“He liked to say he was going to fish.”

The trust document was stapled at the corner.

The title read “The Jonathan Prescott Separate Trust for Mason Prescott.” My name sat in the middle of the page in black type.

The page was warm from the copy machine.

Arthur set his coffee down without drinking it.

“Read the funding paragraph.”

I read it twice.

On August 6, my father had transferred forty-one thousand two hundred dollars from the company account into a trust account at First National.