Arthur was quiet long enough for his refrigerator to kick on.

“He’ll want immunity,” he said.

“He can have it.”

“You’re giving away the pound of flesh before you’ve caught the fish.”

“Come Friday at noon, that house belongs to somebody else.” I took the yellow paper envelope out of my jacket and laid it between two of his stacks.

“I’m not asking for my house back.

I’m taking it.”

Arthur pulled the pen out of his pocket again.