Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

at the brick facade of the east warehouse across the street, its high windows dark and empty. Robert had bypassed our office entirely, leaving me to search my own memory for mistakes I had never made, all to build his case for the land sale.

“I need you to sign a statement, Arnie,” I said.

“I can’t do that while I’m on the clock,” Arnie said, climbing continue reading …