“Eighty-five thousand dollars in an escrow cashier’s check, plus eight thousand four hundred dollars cleared into your mother’s personal bank account.”

I stood near the window, my hands resting deep in the pockets of my dark blue wool cardigan.

I smoothed the front down with both thumbs while the desktop printer hummed out the transaction receipt.

Sloan lifted her packed box off the floor and headed for the hallway without saying goodbye to anyone.

“Are we finished in this room?”

“Not quite,” David said, picking up the final legal folder.

We walked back out to the kitchen at eleven o’clock.