I opened my engineering logbook and wrote down the exact time, six-oh-four, in dark ink, logging the call right below my notes from Eleanor’s morning call.

On the fourth replay, I pressed pause right at the five-second mark.

The blue audio wave of Arthur’s voicemail froze mid-pulse on my phone screen.

At eight o’clock the next morning, Monica set a mug of hot black tea on the wooden kitchen counter.

Her laptop screen was tilted toward the window, showing the Multnomah County public land records database from Portland.

“Look at line three on the deed index,” Monica said, pointing her index finger at the dark blue text on the screen.