My mother reached over and touched his sleeve.

“Arthur, let the mediator read the file first,” my mother whispered, her voice high and strained.

My father brushed her hand away without looking at her.

“I’m not going to sit here and play word games while our family’s assets are sitting in a parking garage three states away,” he said.

He tapped his signet ring on his accordion folder once more.

“She returns the keys today, or we take the statutory next steps.”