Instead, he was building a playground for himself and Sophia.

Now, the foundation of that playground was rotting.

I turned onto Fourth Street.

The gallery on the corner was dark, its large glass windows showing only the faint silhouettes of modern sculptures.

A few doors down, the neon sign of the coffee shop hummed in the damp air.

The blue and red lights bled into the puddles on the sidewalk.

I parked my car across the street, under the branches of an oak tree that dripped heavy water drops onto my roof.

I checked my phone.

Arthur’s email had just arrived.

The PDF attachment bore his firm’s formal letterhead.

It was a single page, concise and clear.

It outlined the terms: cooperation in exchange for exclusion from the lawsuit.

I saved the document to my home screen, turned off the ignition, and pulled my coat tight around my shoulders.

The cold air hit me the moment I opened the car door.

I walked quickly across the street, my boots splashing through the water.

A brass bell chimed above the door as I pushed it open.