Seventeen Minutes on Route 18 Wrecked an Eighteen-Million-Dollar Corporate Buyout
I scrolled to the bottom of the page.
Then to the bottom of the document.
There was an endorsement stamp under my signature line and nothing else: no second file, no link, no footer.
Schedule B wasn’t attached.
The phone buzzed in my hand before I could read the clause a second time.
Gavin’s name filled the screen.
I answered because the alternative was sitting in a diner parking lot with a dying battery and a document I didn’t understand.
“Christopher,” he said.
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