I did not answer her question because the front bell of the records office chimed, the sound cutting through the basement silence.
The drive to the Maple Valley Savings Bank took exactly four minutes. The autumn wind was picking up, sending dry brown maple leaves tumbling across the asphalt of the parking lot, but inside the lobby, the air-conditioned warmth felt static and heavy.
Ethan was already waiting by the high mahogany writing desks, his hand rhythmically smoothing the front of his blue silk tie. He did not look angry, which was always when he was most dangerous, his smooth public relations voice already carrying across the polished tile floor.
“You took your time, Nora,” he said, gesturing to the bank teller, a young woman named Sarah who was watching us with polite curiosity. “I told the commercial loan officer we would have the corporate amendment signed and registered by two o’clock.”
He laid a blue cardstock folder on the desk, flipping it open to a single page titled Transfer of Voting Rights and Corporate Governance.
