The flap was sealed, and one corner had gotten bent in the mail.

“Tomorrow at nine,” Wayne said.

“Say it the way I told you to.”

She took it out of the breakroom still sealed.

The hall outside Room 302 smelled of floor wax, and the radiator had been ticking since eight.

María López leaned with her shoulder against the wall, one finger on her shoulder radio clip.

“They bumped it up,” she said.

“Judge Vance wants to hear the suppression argument before lunch.”