Arthur’s pencil came down next to my pen.

Gordon looked over at me.

“Once this letter hits their system, no excuse he can talk his way into will save him.”

At eleven forty-five I stood at the county recorder’s counter holding a request slip.

The clerk’s badge reel squeaked every time she leaned toward the screen.

“Julian Vance,” I said.

“And any limited liability company that has his name on the filing.”

She typed.