Then I flicked on the lights, watched the yellow beams spill onto the road ahead, and drove west along Shea Boulevard into the night.

Arthur Vance unscrewed the brass cap of his fountain pen three exact turns and laid it beside his blotter.

He had four piles of documents lined up in neat rows across his mahogany desk.

“The escrow officer cleared the wire from our master trust account at seven fifteen this morning,” he said.

He slid the top folder toward me and opened it to a thick sheaf of parchment bearing a red seal.

“You’re signing as sole trustee of the Willow Creek Living Trust,” Mr.