“He needs your signature by Friday to make the forgery look real.

He’s expecting you to come crawling back, begging for a roof, ready to sign whatever he puts in front of you.”

Vance folded his hands on top of the credit report.

“If you want to clear your name in time, you have to get hold of that paperwork,” he said.

“And you have to do it before Friday.”

I walked out into the bright noon sun.

The black asphalt pushed heat straight up through the soles of my canvas shoes.