Mark stood alone by the water fountain, holding his wool winter coat over his arm.

The polished Oakridge businessman was completely gone.

He looked small, his shoulders slumped under his expensive dress shirt.

He stepped into my path before I could reach the clerk’s office.

“Arthur, wait,” Mark said.

I stopped and looked at him.

“They’re going to seize the boat,” Mark said.

“They’re going to freeze the Oakridge bank accounts by tomorrow morning,” Mark went on.