“Check four-zero-nine went to a shell vendor registered in Delaware,” Brenda said from the hall doorway.

“Arthur owns the corporate registration.”

“We need physical proof for the labor board,” Nathaniel said.

“We have ten days,” Brenda said, and her footsteps faded toward the front of the house.

Nathaniel stayed in his seat at the long oak table after the house went quiet.

He didn’t touch the green checkbook, and he didn’t turn on the main overhead light.

Nathaniel sat alone in his big, dark kitchen, listening to the furnace hum in the silence.