I’ve gone along with thirty-five years of favoritism, Rachel.

I’m done keeping your mother’s secrets.”

“I want the ledger pages too,” I said.

“They’re tucked in the back flap,” Harold said.

“Show them to your lawyer.”

By seven that evening night had come down over Rochester Hills, and rain was drumming steadily on the little kitchen window of the temporary rental cottage I’d managed to find near the elementary school.

Moving boxes were stacked three high along the hall wall, but the little pine table in the kitchen nook was neat and clear.