“Bring it back signed by five, or the two hundred cash goes back in my safe.”

At two that afternoon Irene sat at my dining room table, holding a little magnifying glass over the typed page.

Lily sat on the living room rug by the front window, swinging her feet under her chair as she counted six silver quarters into an empty jam jar.

Noah sat next to her on the rug, tugging nervously at his socks as he watched us from across the room.

“Read paragraph four,” Irene said, pointing at the dark black type near the bottom margin.