“I’m not letting him keep eighteen hundred dollars that belongs to a worker who finished our acoustic arches,” Nathaniel said.

“He has three lawyers on retainer in Lancaster, Nathaniel, and we have fourteen crewmen counting on Friday’s payroll,” Brenda said, putting her pen down on the table.

Nathaniel didn’t pick up his spoon, but he slipped the heavy brass key back into his pocket.

At nine o’clock, Nathaniel drove back to the Route 30 Diner lot, his tires crunching through the crusted slush behind the kitchen dumpster.

The blue sedan sat dark under the one working lamp in the lot, frost climbing high up the side windows in jagged white webs.