The taxi driver began unloading their luggage onto the damp asphalt.

Brent walked slowly toward the driveway, his eyes wide as he stared at the half-destroyed deck.

His phone was in his hand, and I watched him raise it to his ear.

Right then, a dark blue sedan pulled up behind the taxi.

A man in a plain grey suit got out of the sedan, carrying a thick manila envelope.

He walked straight up the driveway toward Brent.

The man in the grey suit stopped a few feet from Brent and spoke.

I couldn’t hear his voice through the camera feed, but his posture was completely professional and detached.

He held out the thick manila envelope.

Brent stared at it for a second, his brow furrowed as the cold Boulder wind whipped his light linen shirt against his chest.

He did not reach for it at first.

The process server said something else, pointing a finger directly at Brent to confirm his identity, and then pressed the envelope against Brent’s chest.

Instinctively, Brent’s hands came up to catch it.