Chelsea stared down at the carpet between her boots, her hands clamped tight around her purse strap, her face completely pale.

“This meeting is officially over,” Mr.

Miller said, sliding my document sleeves back across the polished table to me.

“There is no legal basis for a property claim or an estate adjustment involving this vehicle.”

My father sat completely still in his chair, his mouth pressed into a tight, thin line.

He looked down at his bulging accordion folder, its contents now scattered and meaningless across the table.

I gathered my three sleeves, put them neatly into my leather briefcase, and zipped the pocket shut.