Four weeks later, the oak conference table at the downtown legal center held four manila folders and a heavy brass seal.

Linda sat stiffly in the leather armchair across from me, her arms crossed tight against her navy cardigan.

“Ethan put down four thousand dollars of family money when that SUV was driven off the lot,” Linda said, her voice sharp and formal.

“That gives our household a clear ownership interest in the title.”

The attorney, a gray-haired man named Mr.

Vance, slid his glasses down his nose and looked at Ethan.