“He did have a son,” I agreed.

Spencer’s mouth opened, then shut again.

“Fifty thousand,” he said once more, more quietly.

I got up, slung my purse over my shoulder, and laid the waiver on the table, lined up with the edge, the way Thomas lines up a folder.

“End of the week,” Spencer said.

“That’s all the time I have.”

I walked out, and the bell above the door jingled and went on jingling for a second after it closed.

When I glanced back through the glass, the waiver was still sitting next to his coffee cup, and he hadn’t picked it up, and he hadn’t taken his eyes off it either.