Wade pushed up his silver-framed glasses and took a thin tablet out of his bag.

We walked together down the wide linoleum hall toward the quiet visitors’ lounge at the end, the smell of floor wax and disinfectant hanging heavy in the air.

“He offered a seventy-five percent pension payout,” I said as we sat down on the vinyl couch by the window.

“He says the parish will pay for her medical care in full.”

Wade opened the white folder, tapped his tablet screen, and started matching up paragraph numbers with his thumb.