“Why would your investment servers need direct access to my basement circuits?”

Julian switched off the lantern and left the concrete floor in cold gray shadow.

“Your financial position is shaky, Eleanor,” he said, turning to face me.

“When a pregnant widow can’t cover four months of mortgage arrears, family has to step in and run the heavy utilities.”

“There aren’t any mortgage arrears,” I said.

“The loan notices on the kitchen table say different,” Julian said smoothly, sliding his hand into his coat pocket.

“Unless you’ve got forty thousand dollars tucked in a drawer upstairs, you should let men who run real businesses handle the electrical load.”