“This is a simple, standard, routine matter, Ona,” he said.

“A perfectly basic, normal, ordinary financial arrangement.”

“Mama never set foot in Tyler in her entire life,” I said.

“Your mother was a cautious, prudent, careful woman,” Arthur said, laying the paper back on the green blotter.

“She asked me to manage a small private trust for her, and that’s exactly what I did.”

“Mama made seventy-five dollars a week at the chicken plant back in ’71,” I said.

“She didn’t have money for trust funds, I suppose.”