“Nathaniel Schafer and Emily Schafer,” Ron read out loud, his voice dropping a full octave as his eyes moved across the second line.

“Purchase price, forty-one thousand five hundred dollars.”

He laid the paper back down on the tablecloth and looked across the table straight at Nate.

“Where did you get forty-one thousand dollars?” Ron asked.

“We paid forty-one thousand five hundred dollars,” I said.

“Forty thousand by cashier’s check from our savings account on Thursday morning, and fifteen hundred in cash on the courthouse steps.

Mostly in twenties that smelled like diner fryer oil.”