Liam had already left me two messages about the trust.

It needed a name on the filing before the first of the month, and he didn’t want mine on it.

He wanted Charles’s.

The drawer clicked shut, and I put the little brass key back in my pocket, where it had ridden ever since the day it arrived in a birthday card.

Downstairs, the third floor smelled of scorched coffee and someone’s reheated lasagna.

Diane came in at noon with a pile of audit forms and set them on the window table.