Everything my father’s estate lawyer had handed me three years ago, back when I was pregnant and still trusted my husband.

I set the bank notice beside the deed.

This account was supposed to have four hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars in it, Brandon.

The figure stared back at me from the receipt with my father’s neatly typed address.

A waitress named Doreen topped off my coffee without my asking.

She glanced at Toby, then down at the papers.

“You look like a woman doing arithmetic on her day off,” she said.

I tried to smile at her.