He hadn’t signed a thing.

I had signed the one page that cost me nothing.

Nobody in that house would notice until someone in a robe read it out loud.

The hotel in Scottsdale brewed its coffee one cup at a time, and the window faced a parking garage, and at seven the next morning I was still sitting in the chair with the cup gone cold on the armrest.

My phone lit up on the desk, Gloria’s name running across the top.