“You’ll have it by tomorrow afternoon,” Jerome said.

Miller nodded once, turned, and walked out through the heavy glass doors into the grey afternoon.

The damp cold of the autumn air drifted inside as the doors swung shut.

“He’s desperate,” Jerome said quietly, looking at the card in his hand.

“He was trying to build a fallback plan in case the inheritance fell through,” I said.

“And now he has neither,” Jerome said. “Let’s get back to the office.”

Two days later, I sat in the small conference room at Jerome’s office.

Rain tapped against the narrow window pane.

The room smelled of old paper and stale coffee.

My phone sat on the polished oak table, vibrating against the wood.

It was a text from Rachel.

“You need to see this,” she wrote, followed by a link to a local business registry update.

Before I could click it, Jerome walked in, carrying a thin blue folder.

He looked pleased, though his mouth remained a straight line.

“Scott’s legal representation has just filed a motion to withdraw,” Jerome said, sitting down.

“Vance and Associates?” I asked.