I tapped the red button on the screen and set the phone flat on the bench beside me.

I got back to Monica’s house at four in the afternoon and set up my workspace at the small oak desk in the spare bedroom.

I opened my black engineering logbook to a fresh two-page spread and laid my bank statements flat next to my laptop.

I drew a line down the middle of the paper, making two columns labeled Remittances Sent Home and Actual Discarded Accounts.

Using my online banking records, I logged every dollar I had sent my father over seven years, starting with my first paycheck in Seattle at twenty-two.