The cream-white sheet didn’t flutter in the harbor wind. Pulled from the Admiralty dispatch box on the wet timber bollard of Pier 14, the dockside duplicate of Form BW-12-PULP lay stiff as cured cowhide. It matched the master sheet from Director Cross’s case inside Studio B.
Julian Vance clicked his 365nm UV Counterfeit Pen. A violet cone washed over the header of Form BW-12-PULP to test the dockside manifest.
Standard bond paper turned chalky violet under ultraviolet light. This sheet drank the purple glow straight into its core.
“Hold the lower corner, Mac,” Julian said.
Marcus “Mac” Cole stepped up to the bollard between standby tug Marrow-09 and the black launch Nautilus-04. He raised his left arm, clamping his 1924 naval brass spanner attachment onto the bottom margin of the waybill.
“Try to tear it,” Julian said.
Mac planted his boots and leaned back with all two hundred and twenty pounds of his frame. The brass teeth bit hard into the pale sheet while his prosthetic socket creaked against his elbow stump.
The paper didn’t tear, stretch, or take a crease.
