I tightened the brass screw on the drywall anchor with my pocket screwdriver and leveled the new nameplate with my left thumb.

“Brooks Forensic Consulting,” Chloe said from the open doorway.

“It’s perfectly straight.”

She walked into the reception room carrying a thick navy accordion folder, set it on the edge of my new oak desk, and slipped off her coat.

“The county probate judge signed the final decree at eight thirty this morning,” Chloe said.

“How much did the receiver claw back from the Mercer Ridge shell account?” I asked.

“Sixty-eight thousand dollars,” she said, tapping her fountain pen three times against her yellow legal pad.