It was heavy carbon copy ledger paper, rough along the perforated top edge where it had been ripped quickly out of a binder.

I unfolded the sheets under the yellow glare of the porch light.

Printed in blue ink across the top line was a second mortgage wire draft against our Dublin house, showing a requested payout of one hundred eighty-five thousand dollars.

I folded the three blue ledger pages back up, pushed them deep into my coat pocket, and walked back across the frozen driveway to my father’s truck.

By seven thirty the next morning, the smell of fresh hazelnut coffee filled our sunny breakfast nook in Dublin.