Hopsworth's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

The paper was still warm in Hopsworth's hand when his phone rang. The screen showed the county records office. He let it ring twice, then answered. A clerk's voice, polite and bored, told him the records request had pulled a third address. Both businesses, she said, were tied to it. She asked if he could come in and confirm. Hopsworth thanked her and ended the call. He stared at the closed gate. One knot had become two. He drove into town and parked beneath the iron lamppost outside the records office. The stone steps were cold under his shoes. Inside, the clerk slid a printed invoice across the counter. Hopsy's Brewery, it read, in curling letters. The address at the top was not the drive-in. It was not the rehab center. It was a brick building he had bought through an old shell, years ago, and forgotten to bury deeper. Hopsworth asked to amend the file. The clerk shook her head. The request was already logged. A copy had gone to the inspector that morning. She offered him a pen anyway, in case he wanted to sign the confirmation. He signed. His name now sat under all three addresses on the same page. He walked out and stood on the steps. The old brick brewery was thirty minutes away, barrels still stacked by its wooden door. He had kept it quiet. He had kept it clean. Now a stranger held the line that connected every part of him, and the line had a third knot in it, tied tight.