Arthur sat in his high-backed wooden chair, smoothing out three stapled pages with the palm of his hand.

His heavy gold signet ring tapped against the polished oak with a sharp, steady click.

I stood near the kitchen counter with a glass of water, watching Eleanor set out cloth napkins for lunch.

“They gave us fifty-eight thousand on the final write-up,” Arthur said, pointing a black pen at a highlighted line on the contract.

“Sticker was sixty-two thousand, but the finance manager knocked off four thousand when I showed him my old inspector badge.”

“What was the total down payment?” Eleanor asked, leaning over his shoulder while smoothing the front of her cardigan over her waist.