He had a clipboard tucked under his arm with a printed list of everything in the rooms.

“Where’s my father’s briefcase?” I asked.

“Your mother has it.” He checked off a line on the clipboard.

“She has the brass key too.”

“I’ve got a brass key.”

“Then you’ve got a key to a lock that isn’t there anymore.” He crossed his arms tighter.

“The briefcase is estate property.”

“It belongs to my father.”