Arthur’s face went completely still, his eyes going to Nathaniel’s coat pocket before flicking back to the phone camera.

“My sister had no legal right to hand over private shop property.”

“She handed over what was left behind in her own diner,” Nathaniel said.

“The certified copy goes to the regional labor board at nine o’clock Friday morning.”

Nathaniel laid the heavy white envelope on the hood of Arthur’s truck, tucking it right under the driver’s-side windshield wiper.

“If you set foot on my construction sites before Friday morning, I’ll have the county sheriff remove you for trespassing,” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a cold, flat rasp.

“I don’t need to set foot on your sites,” Nathaniel said.