Grace looked up from her bed, her pencil hovering over the page as she listened to Vance.

“Is Dad coming back tonight?” Grace asked softly from the corner of the room.

“I’ll talk to your father,” I said, turning toward her bed and laying the insurance rider flat on her nightstand.

Marcus Vance checked his wristwatch, squared the edges of his legal papers against his forearm, and put them in his leather bag.

Marcus Vance closed his leather briefcase with a crisp snap.

I took the elevator straight back up to the fourth floor, the legal folder tucked under my arm like a shield.