“I’m not here about your job at the real estate office,” I said, laying my palm flat against the wooden door jamb.

She quit pushing, her eyes falling to the blue folder under my arm.

“Frank told me the family had signed off on everything,” she whispered, her voice tight.

“Frank lied to you,” I said.

“And the county prosecutor won’t care what Frank told you once the bank fraud charge gets filed on Monday.”

She pulled her sleeve down over her knuckles, staring at the boards of the landing.

“I only stepped out to get him a bottle of water from the break room,” she said.