I drank my hot tea while the clock above the stove ticked quietly toward eight fifteen.

There were no stray receipts on the island, no unfamiliar passwords saved in the browser, and no locked folders behind the workbench in the garage.

Frank Vance had called from the main branch on Monday afternoon to confirm the final account status.

“The dual signature flag is permanently active on your title, Mrs.

Whitmore,” Frank had said, adjusting his silver-framed reading glasses over his file.

“No single applicant can ever request a draw against this property.”