She pulled out a page folded in two places and pressed it flat with two fingers.

My name sat in a column of fine print beneath the legal notices.

“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars,” she said.

“And a lake house.

From a man who had dementia.”

Two men from receiving stopped their pallet jack so they could listen.

“I’m not leaving this building until somebody puts in writing what she did,” Patricia said.

That was when David came out of his office, badge swinging, checking his watch, counting all the people standing around.