She had loved me steadily through every hour of those forty-five years.

I got to my feet and brushed off my trousers.

“Who’s opening the bank conference room at three thirty?”

The third-floor boardroom at First National Bank smelled of floor polish and stale coffee.

Arthur sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, looking shrunken inside his dark wool suit.

His signet ring lay flat on the polished wood, unshined now, and his heavy gold pen sat untouched beside a four-page restitution agreement.

Two bank vice presidents sat by the door while Wade pushed the asset transfer agreement across the table toward Arthur’s hands.