“I have a friend with a spare couch,” I said.

“I’ll be fine until the probate clears.”

“We should look at small houses,” Arthur said.

“You’ll need a secure place to keep your grandmother’s documents.”

I thought about the rusted butter cookie tin sitting safely in my duffel bag across town.

I nodded.

The heavy bank doors banged open behind us.

Gregory hurried down the concrete steps.