Her fingers folded it into a thin strip, opened it all the way out, and folded it in half again.

Brent stood right behind the back of the sofa, rapping his knuckles on the wooden door casing every few seconds.

“Where’s the transfer, Naomi?” Brent said before anyone else could get a word in.

He leaned forward until his shoulders filled most of the room behind him.

“You had no right to hold back that money.”
“Good morning to you as well, Brent,” I said.

“Drop the corporate act,” he said, knocking his fist on the trim.