Gable walked to the dining room door.

He paused with his back to us.

“For the record, I advised against the surrender.”

“You’re the one who drew it up.”

“I advised against it after I read the account traces.” He walked out.

Victoria’s pearls clicked beneath her fingers.

I picked the receipt up off the rug.

It came from a notary service in Quincy, dated the Tuesday before my father died.