“I can file the emergency petition Thursday,” Marcus said.

His voice came out slow and steady, the way he read obituaries.

Evelyn’s voice broke in.

“Thursday is too late.

She’s already asking the bank for deposit slips.”

“Then she’s asking the wrong bank.” A pen tapped against wood, once, twice.

“The probate judge owes me a favor.

I’ll have the order by Friday morning.”