“She claimed you paid the lender directly from your personal savings.”

Ethan cleared his throat again, running his thumb along his key ring.

“My mother took the paper bank statements out of the mailbox on Elm Street every month,” he said.

“And you let her hide them?” I asked.

“She told me that as long as the state title had my name on it, she had the right to handle our household mail,” he said.

I adjusted my watch strap, tightening the leather buckle one hole as I looked at the yellow highlights.