The deed folder, the tax receipts, the certified copy of the will in its manila sleeve, everything was still there.

But the rubber band had been turned inside out, and the folder sat an inch off the corner of the drawer.

I took the copy of the will to the window and opened it to the clause Marcus had marked for me.

Yellow highlighter ran straight across the line about being declared legally incapacitated by a court of competent jurisdiction.

The stripe crossed the crease in the paper.