Cole slipped the navy folder into his locked desk drawer and said nothing.

By nine the next morning I was standing in the glass lobby of Seth’s downtown accounting firm while he turned three pages of notary records toward the sunlight.

The air smelled of scorched coffee and fresh paper.

Seth checked his wristwatch before laying the top document on the counter between us.

His thumb rested on the bottom corner of the page.

“Cole filed this amendment with the county clerk three weeks ago,” Seth said.