I put the money in the zippered pocket inside my purse.

“That isn’t charity,” he said.

“That’s a loan from your father.” He closed the cash box and slid it back onto the shelf.

“I know what it is.”

“Good.

Now go see that lawyer again before he spends the rest.”

The coffee shop near the courthouse was half empty when I got there at four.

Mark Vance had a manila envelope and a cold cup of coffee in front of him.