Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
He kept the language flat and dry, just as the corporate attorney had instructed him over the phone.
“These agreements have to be signed voluntarily,” Linda said, watching him write. “If they feel threatened, a judge can throw them out.”
“They will sign,” Carter said.
“What if Troy tries to run?” Linda asked.
“He won’t run,” Carter said. “He thinks he has already won.”
Carter set the pen down and folded the papers, sliding them into a crisp manila folder.
“We need to make sure Henry is there,” Linda said. “If he doesn’t show up for the meeting, we can’t clear his name in front of the staff.”
“I will make sure he’s there,” Carter said.
He stood up and reached for his jacket.
“Where are you going now?” Linda asked.
“Springfield,” Carter said.
By one o’clock, Carter had parked his truck at the far end of the gravel lot next to the Cozy Rest Motel on the outskirts of Springfield.
The air was cool, and the sky was a flat, dull gray that promised rain before dark.
Two hundred yards away, Henry’s old Buick sedan was parked under a dying willow tree.
