That evening I found Wayne standing in the driveway before I even turned off the engine.

His work truck looked out of place beside the polished cars Brandon liked to rent for client visits.

Wayne had rough hands, a perpetual sunburn, and a habit of speaking only when he believed every word mattered.

“I should have warned you sooner,” he said when I opened the door.

“But there’s more than one set of books.”

I asked him to come inside only after I had settled Hazel upstairs.

He insisted we sit where no one could overhear us.