Eleanor turned away from him and walked toward the glass door.

The court officer stepped aside to let her pass.

She walked out into the main bank lobby without looking back.

I stood up and buttoned my heavy winter coat.

I looked down at Mark, sitting at the large table surrounded by seven years of hard proof.

The blue binders, the old probate filing, the carbon check slip, and his discarded gold watch sat there like stones marking a grave.

“Listen here,” I said.