“If you default on this note, the bank takes the house.”

The coffee shop on Henderson Avenue had grease-spotted linoleum floors and a heavy smell of fried onions.

Pete Higgins, a former site foreman who had spent twenty years running concrete crews for my company, sat in a corner booth with a ceramic mug between his callused hands.

“I thought you were resting down in Santa Fe, Raymond,” Pete said.

“Garrett told the job site superintendents last month you were taking early medical leave.”

“Garrett tells people whatever fits his schedule,” I said.