We laid out the paper trail in two neat rows on the yellow tablecloth.

On the left were the receipt for the lock I bought four months ago and the bill of sale for the unplugged chest freezer.

On the right were Teresa’s financial activity log and the satellite location data from my truck.

Mariana took a blue checkbook out of her leather purse and laid it on the pile.

“How much does Marcus Vance want for a retainer?” she asked.

“Seven thousand five hundred dollars,” I said.