“He signed the irrevocable trust deed in 2012,” I said.

My mother leaned forward, her single strand of pearls swinging against the dark wool of her sweater.

“Evelyn, sweet pea, listen to your father.

He has a plan that takes care of everyone.”

“What plan?” I asked.

My father reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a blue leather checkbook.

He laid it flat on the table between us.

“I can transfer fifty thousand dollars cash into your bank account by Friday morning,” my father said.