Max stood up, wiping his greasy hands on a paper towel.

“Fixed.

See?

Simple.”

“Thank you,” I said, looking down at the white envelope sitting beside the fruit bowl on the counter.

If Max was standing in my kitchen fixing pipes and handing me cash for summer camp, maybe Gary’s title search had been a terrible idea.

Maybe pushing a fraud claim into a courtroom would wreck the fragile truce that was keeping my daughters at peace.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” I asked him, my voice softening.