Thirty-Six Pages of Bank Receipts and the Chicago Mortgage Transfer I Finally Canceled

I stood at the small wooden desk in Room 412 while rain dripped from the hem of my coat onto the thin carpet.

My neck was stiff, so I rubbed it with my palm as I dialed David’s cell.

He answered on the second ring.

“Naomi,” David said.

A dog barked twice somewhere behind him.

“It’s a little late for a system update.”

“I’m taking the Lisbon job,” I said.

David said nothing for three seconds.