Mark walked past me to the brass hook mounted beside the garage door frame.

He took the cold silver Buick key fob off the hook and dropped it into his deep coat pocket along with his own keys.

“You’re not driving anywhere,” Mark said.

“The title on that car was signed over to me when you moved out of the house on Elm Street.”

“I paid forty-two hundred dollars for that car three years ago,” I said.

“And I paid for your insurance until three weeks ago,” Mark said.