“I’ll file the official trust paperwork with the state banking board this afternoon,” he said.

“Are you ready to run all future transactions through this legal entity?”

“I’m ready,” I said, signing my full name on the black ink line.

He capped his pen with three slow turns, gathered the signed pages, and locked them in the heavy metal filing cabinet behind his desk.

By six that evening I was back in the Scottsdale kitchen, setting a bowl of cooked green beans between the salad bowl and the bread basket.

Daniel sat at the head of the table, slid his wristwatch back and forth on his wrist, and pushed a thick white legal packet across the placemat toward my plate.