“Are you contesting?”

I put my card back in my wallet and didn’t answer her.

The Baldwin Logistics lot had two empty rows down by the loading dock, so I parked in the far one, behind a plow truck that hadn’t moved since March.

At one thirty my father’s sedan came around the side of the building and stopped in the space with his name painted on the pavement.

He got out holding a folder flat against his coat, walked to the door without looking at anything, and let himself in with his own key.