“Nathaniel,” Brenda said, setting her clipboard on the corner of his desk.

“Arthur controls six framing crews in Lancaster County.

If you push him over four hundred dollars, he’ll make the rest of the winter hard for us.”

“Numbers don’t lie unless someone holds the pencil with intent,” Nathaniel said.

He folded the yellow receipt once more and slipped it into his coat pocket.

He drove his pickup north on Route 30 with the heater running high while the cold morning light washed over the brown limestone barns along the highway.

The Route 30 Diner lot was mostly empty at eleven in the morning, except for two delivery trucks and a ten-year-old blue sedan parked near the dumpster.