I laid the seven carbon slips flat in the cedar lining of the chest.

I laid Howard Finch’s receipt for fifteen hundred dollars right beside them, along with the bill of sale for my old pickup truck and the release paper for the market deed.

I closed the heavy oak lid and turned the iron key in the lock until the tumblers dropped home.

The seven years of demands were over.

The money would stay in Oak Creek where it belonged, saved for Emma’s future in a trust Carl Gable drew up under our care.

I slid the key onto my brass key ring beside the store key, pushed the wooden chest deep into the corner of the closet, and clicked off the office light.