“I’ll sign it,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t let them take my car. I need my car to get back to my parents’ house.”

“Was the car bought with cash?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “My parents bought it for me three years ago. It’s in my father’s name.”

“Then we won’t touch it,” I said.

I stood up, leaving the black ledger on the table.

“Wait here,” I said. “I have the physical paper in my car. I will print it and bring it back.”

“Please hurry,” Sophia said, looking toward the dark street. “He has been calling me. He knows I left the apartment.”

I walked out of the coffee shop, the cold rain hitting my face again.

I walked to my car, unlocked it, and retrieved the small portable printer from the back seat.

I plugged it into the dashboard outlet, synced my phone, and printed two copies of Arthur’s letter.

The paper rolled out, warm and smelling of toner.

I grabbed the sheets, grabbed a pen from the center console, and locked the car.