“I’ll bring him back to your apartment by six thirty,” Marcus said softly, pushing the stroller toward the front door.

“Thank you, Marcus,” I said.

My phone chimed twice on the blotter beside the ticking desk clock.

I picked it up and looked at the glowing screen.

It showed a text message from an unlisted phone account at the county correctional facility.

“Vivian please,” the text read.

“The state board revoked my corporate charity license today.

I need four thousand dollars for the legal defense filing or the annuity defaults permanently.