“Guaranteed delivery to Pearl Street before five o’clock,” the clerk said, sliding a yellow receipt across the counter.

“Does someone have to sign for it directly?” I asked.

“Signature required from legal counsel or authorized staff.”

I sat in my sedan across the street from Richard Hale’s office building with the windshield wipers ticking against the glass.

My phone chimed at fourteen minutes past three.

Delivery confirmation logged at 3:44 p.m., signed by paralegal desk.

I closed the browser tab on my phone and drove back to Cedar Street to pick Sophie up from her after-school program.

By seven on Friday evening the rain had stopped, leaving wet leaves plastered to the apartment kitchen window.