“I have to ask you something,” he said.

“Did your father sign anything for you before he passed?”

“I don’t know what he signed.”

Arthur put his finger on the date printed at the top of the receipt.

The faded blue numbers sat under his nail.

His finger stayed on the date.

Arthur set the bank receipt on the diner table and ordered a second coffee before I sat down.

“The date is the least of it,” he said.