If I signed it, Graham’s business would have ten days to pay the back rent, or face eviction.

I laid the paper on the center of my desk.

I picked up a black ink pen and held it above the signature line.

Downstairs, the heavy oak front door creaked open.

A car door slammed outside in the driveway.

I heard the familiar, heavy thud of Graham’s leather dress shoes on the hardwood floor of the foyer.

He was home.

The house was quiet, but his footsteps were loud and hurried.

“Jocelyn!” his voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs.

I did not move.

I sat at my desk, the pen still hovering over the document that could ruin him.

“Jocelyn, get down here right now!” he called out, his voice sharp with anger.

I heard him reach the bottom of the stairs and begin to climb.

I slipped the default notice under a leather desk blotter.

I capped the black ink pen.

The heavy brass doorknob turned.

Graham pushed the door open so hard it hit the rubber stopper on the wall.