The heavy vehicle began to roll slowly toward our passenger side.

I gripped the door handle, waiting for the impact.

The SUV stopped inches from my window.

The guard glared at us through the rain-streaked glass.

Then, his passenger window rolled down an inch.

A hand reached out of the opening.

It was holding a single piece of paper, letting the rain soak it instantly.

The hand let go, and the paper fluttered onto the wet pavement before the SUV backed up rapidly, aiming for the rear exit.

I scrambled to open my door, ignoring Diane’s warning shout.

The cold rain hit my face as I stepped into the puddle.

I ran toward the piece of paper before the wind could sweep it away.

My fingers closed around the wet, pulpy sheet.

I looked down at the running ink.

The signature at the bottom was mine, but the text above it had been completely blacked out with a marker.

I looked up as a second car pulled into the far end of the lot.

Its headlights blinded me, casting a long shadow across the asphalt.