“I ran a few early numbers while you were upstairs resting, El,” Julian said, in a voice that was smooth and far too familiar.

“The residential market here in Oak Ridge is hitting its ceiling.”

He leaned down to the glass coffee table and slid a thick cream document folder toward my chair.

“What’s that paper?” I asked.

“A certified independent property appraisal,” Julian said.

“Four Elmwood Lane runs forty-two hundred dollars a quarter in taxes and routine upkeep.

If you list the house before December first, we can cash out the equity before the winter dip.”

I lifted the folder and turned back the heavy cover sheet.