“I managed to get a short-term advance,” Mark said, his voice sliding into the smooth tone he used for client presentations.

“I’m trying to help here.

Take the ten thousand dollars and let’s end this cleanly before the lawyers eat up whatever’s left.”

“I want to see the paperwork first,” I said.

I walked past him into the house through the side garage door.

Vanessa was sitting on the tall wooden barstool at the kitchen island, holding a white porcelain mug in both hands.

A stack of six flattened cardboard boxes leaned against the side of the refrigerator.