The new car was parked across two spaces in Marcus’s own driveway, and my brother checked his phone before he looked at me.

A black sedan with dealer plates sat under the garage light.

Marcus stood beside it in gray loafers that cost twelve hundred dollars and a coat that cost more than my car.

“Chicago traffic,” he said.

“You’re late.”

“By six minutes.” He looked at his phone again, thumb moving.

The screen lit up his chin.

“New car,” I said.

“Delivered this morning.” He put the phone in his pocket and opened the driver’s door.

The interior was bone-colored leather and smelled like a new wallet.

“Ceramic coating.

Nine hundred just for the coating.”

I rubbed the back of my neck.

“Where’s Sophia?”

“Inside.” The phone buzzed.

He took it out, read something, and turned it face down against his thigh.

“Bad news?”

“Client call.” He smiled with only his mouth.