Jared had woken from his nap just after two, sweaty and feeling gritty. When he got out of the shower he’d been greeted by a process server who’d slipped onto the refuge. Dressed like a volunteer in khakis and a tiger-print T-shirt, he walked right into Jared’s trailer and handed him the Notice of Suit. He skimmed it: horse, tiger, negligence, emotional trauma, twenty-five thousand dollars, five hundred thousand dollars.
Like I need this. Fuckola.
Jared was too tired to be surprised or even angry—yet.
He met Steve in the kitchen. Steve and his team had all the perimeter fencing intact. They’d managed to find a pump and routed the floodwater away from the trailers.
“The concrete we poured won’t hold,” Steve said with a grimace, “but it will look solid enough to pass another inspection.
