“The county clerk’s office sent over the final verified records by courier at nine,” Nora said quietly.

She set a thick pile of printed public records on the table between us.

“Here’s the corporate tax filing for Caldwell Logistics,” she said.

I opened to the first page and looked at the black stamp by the margin.

“Two hundred eighteen thousand dollars,” I said, reading the number aloud.

“And the deadline’s September fifth,” Nora said, touching the date with her pen.

“If he can’t show two hundred thousand dollars in unencumbered real estate by Thursday, the regional bank starts foreclosing on his whole fleet.”