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“I’m here.”

“Did you find it?”

“Yes.”

There was a printed insurance packet in my document case. I had brought it for the fire marshal because the certificate sat behind the floor plan and emergency-action paperwork. If I had printed the renewal Friday night, the declarations might be there too.

I crossed to the black road case beside the control position and set my tablet on top.

I opened the document case and sorted through its dividers.

Permits.

Venue agreement.

Current certificate.

Emergency plan.

The declarations page sat behind the premium notice, unsigned.

Relief came hard and unpleasant, almost anger.

I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear and took the pen from my hair.

“I have the page.”

“Good. Before you sign, I need to confirm there have been no material changes since application.”

“Go ahead.”

The road case was scuffed black plywood banded in steel, built to survive loading docks, trucks, dropped equipment, and men who used fragile as a stacking suggestion. I flattened the declaration against it with one hand.

The broker began with the named insured.

“Nair and Company, LLC,” I confirmed.

“Business address?”

I gave her the Denver mailing address.

“Estimated gross receipts for the coming policy period?”

The number came out cleanly.

It was optimistic by twelve percent.

Not dishonest. Projected.

Projection was optimism with accounting software.

“Any work outside the United States?”

“No.”

“Any newly formed subsidiaries?”

“No.”