Page 132 of Flint’s Strike

“Dale Pruitt?” Nate asks.

“That’s—” His light gray eyes narrow. “Rangers. Let me guess. You’re the two who wanted access to my records.”

“Captain Elmore. That’s Captain Hardison.” I nod at Nate, who opens the folder he’s carrying and passes copies of the warrants to Pruitt. “We’re gonna need those records now.”

Pruitt scans the papers, his hands not quite steady. “I have to make a call.”

“Go ahead. If you refuse, we’ll just search for the information ourselves.” I offer him the barest hint of a smile and tilt my head to peek at Nate.

He shrugs. “No skin off my back. Though, the last time we had to execute a search ourselves, we left a hell of a mess behind.”

“I really thought the laptop was hidden behind a false wall. There was fresh paint and everything,” I add.

Pruitt stares at the warrants for a full minute, then sets them on the small receptionist’s counter and smooths them with his palm. “Lonestar Ridge Holdings and Apex Building Solutions. Okay, okay. Give me five minutes.”

“I’m afraid we’ll need to come with you, Mr. Pruitt. Standard procedure.” Nate steps forward, and Dale’s cheeks pale by several shades.

“Oh…okay.”

We follow him down the hall and into a surprisingly well-organized office. He unlocks his filing cabinet, riffles through the bottom drawer for a moment, and pulls out two folders the size of my old college textbooks. The ones I used as door stoppers.

“Every piece of paper I have from Lonestar Ridge Holdings and Apex Building Solutions. They pay me to file their annual reports and maintain their addresses of record. Nothin’ more.”

Nate stares him down. “You’re positive this is all you have?”

“Yep. Some folks scan everythin’. I prefer paper.” Pruitt says it like it’s a point of pride. Like being old school makes him more trustworthy.

Dale signs the custodial affidavit, then sinks back in his chair. “Are we done here? Havin’ a couple Rangers in my office ain’t good for business.”

“Oh, we’re done. It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Pruitt.” I flash him one last smile, turn on my heel, and follow Nate out of the room.

I spend the next twenty minutes trying to talk Nate out of ordering lunch from Om Açaí.

“Mario’s has salad. That’s healthy. And the conference room won’t smell like wet socks for a week.”

Nate scoffs. “My treasured Rejuvenation Bowl smells like sunshine and good cardiovascular health.”

“Mario’s smells like cheese and chicken and peppers. Isn’t that better?”

Nate’s already scrolling through the Food Dude app. “You want the chickpea and cinnamon bowl or the green curry jackfruit bowl?”

“Neither. I’m going to the vending machine. Peanut butter crackers sound a hell of a lot better than either of those.” I’m not hungry enough to argue with him, and with two thick folders of paperwork in front of us, we don’t have the time to waste.

Nate shakes his head. “Fine. It’s your heart attack. I’ll update my spreadsheet with the new projected date I’ll need to be available to visit you in the hospital.”

I scowl, but deep down, I know he’s right. The past three months, I’ve been ordering way too much crappy takeout. And while my vending machine habit keeps Kenny busy, vegetables won’t kill me.

“Fine. Order me the Berry Blast. But tell them to hold the chia seeds. Those damn things get stuck in my teeth.”

His triumphant smile lasts until we open the folders from Pruitt. The Lonestar folder might as well be War and Peace for how many pages of absolutely boring corporate bullshit it contains.

“This is gonna take all day. You want the first half or the second?” I ask.

Nate drags Eliot’s spreadsheet onto the wall monitor, then carefully arranges his pens in an order only he can make sense of. “Neither. Hot stuff has been busy.” He highlights three rows and scrolls over to the status column. Order to vacate posted sits in each one.

“What am I lookin’ at? Besides three more buildings that failed the inspection sweep.” I settle back in my chair. Nate’s got that look again. The one that tells me he’s about to launch into a data organization lesson that only he understands.

“All three of these buildings were inspected by… Go on. Take a guess.”