I thought you were back in Strasburg counting oak joists,” Arthur said.

He straightened his silver tie bar with two quick fingers.

“Merry Christmas to Whitmore Construction.”

“Evelyn handed me the Project Four roster,” Nathaniel said.

He stayed six feet away, his hands buried deep in his canvas coat pockets.

Arthur stopped his scraper mid-stroke against the glass.

The booming warmth left his face at once, replaced by a cold, flat stare.

“That was an internal draft,” Arthur said.