“We are waiting on a grant disbursement,” I said, keeping my eyes on Derek. “It is scheduled for the first of the month.”

“The notice of intent to foreclose on the property lease was also served today,” Vance replied, his tone entirely flat. “You have seventy-two hours to clear the arrears before the lockouts begin.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone and set it on the glass desk.

The silence in the office was heavy, smelling faintly of dry carpet dust and the warm plastic of the server rack.

“That was the utility company,” I said.

Derek turned on his phone’s flashlight, casting a stark white beam across the concrete floor.

“How much do we owe them?” he asked.

“Twelve thousand for the electricity and the lab equipment line,” I said. “And thirty-four thousand to the landlord.”

Derek did not blink.

He walked over to the desk, his leather shoes clicking quietly in the dark.

He tapped his phone screen, opened his email app, and typed for thirty seconds.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Declining the Chicago offer,” he said.