The drive from Atlanta had taken nearly four hours, and the morning weather had offered no favors.

Douglas pushed a single sheet of paper across the wood.

It was an invoice for an eighteen-thousand-dollar venue surcharge.

Through the window behind him, I watched a forklift struggle through the mud.

It carried a short stack of wet pine boards.

The yard looked remarkably sparse for a company claiming to supply major commercial developers across the state.

“Samantha asked me to impress upon you the need for speed,” Douglas said.

“She wants an expedited wire transfer for this vendor fee by tomorrow morning.