By one o’clock, the afternoon mail delivery sat on the metal worktable in the back room at the logistics office.

Edward stood on the other side of the table, slitting open heavy brown envelopes with a small brass letter opener.

“Gary kept the original title report,” I said, dropping a stack of plastic shipping manifests into a recycling bin.

“Max forged my name on a quitclaim deed so he could borrow money against Birch Street.”

Edward’s hands went still.

He lifted his wrist and tapped his pen against his watch crystal three times.

“He used a quiet quitclaim to satisfy the mortgage officer,” Edward said.