“This little piece of paper was always meant for exactly this,” Arthur said.

I picked up the pen and signed my name three times on the yellow tabs of the release form.

The ink dried instantly on the thick white paper.

“That’s it,” Arthur said.

“The life insurance settlement Beatrice protected for twenty-seven years is officially yours.”

I set the pen down next to the folder.

My rent was overdue at the apartment I had abandoned for good, and my Buick was dead in an auto shop lot.

“When does the wire clear?” I asked.