“Good morning, Loretta,” David said, his voice a calm, deep baritone that filled the high ceiling of the entryway.

Mark pushed past me into the hall, stepping directly into David’s path with his hands raised.

“Who authorized you to walk into my house?” Mark asked, his face flushing red as he looked between the three of them.

“This is private property.

Whatever sales pitch or consulting service my mother signed up for is canceled.”

David adjusted his silver wire-framed glasses with one thumb before saying a word.

“My name is David Vance, legal counsel for your mother,” David said, reaching into his suit coat and handing Mark a stapled legal folder bound in heavy blue backing paper.