Clara set her red mug down on a stack of printed delivery invoices with a sharp thud.

“We reorganized those bottom cabinet drawers on Tuesday afternoon, Audrey,” Clara said.

Clara reached into a thick manila folder lying beside the coffee maker and pulled out three stapled sheets of crisp white bond paper.

She walked across the vinyl floor, her cream leather pumps clicking in a neat rhythm against the subfloor.

“Julian and I thought this document would spare everyone a long and unnecessary legal fight,” Clara said, holding the paper out toward my open hand.

The top line of the first page was printed in dark block capitals: Quitclaim Deed and Complete Asset Surrender.