The warehouse was cold, the high metal rafters humming with the sound of massive heaters that barely kept the frost away.

Calvin Reese was standing by the shipping desk, a clipboard in his thick hands.

He looked up as I approached, his brow furrowed under his grease-stained cap.

“You look like hell, Avery,” Calvin said.

“I’ve had a long day, Calvin,” I said.

“Your father’s lawyers called the office three times this afternoon,” he said, setting the clipboard down on the metal desk.

“They told me I’m obstructing a court order by keeping the trucks idle.”

“You’re not obstructing anything,” I said. “You work for me. I run Northline.”

“For now,” Calvin said, looking out at the quiet warehouse floor.

“But the drivers are getting restless. They want to know if they’re going to have jobs next week.”

“They will,” I said. “I am going to end this tomorrow.”

“How?” he asked.

“I’m meeting my parents at Elliot’s cabin,” I said.

Calvin stared at me for a long moment, then spit a toothpick into a metal trash can.

“That cabin is isolated, Avery,” he said.