He pinched the crease in his trousers and pressed it flat with his thumb.

“Harper.

My mom is sixty-five.”

“I know perfectly well how old she is.”

“She can’t do federal time.

You know what happens to women like her in those places.”

I rested the manila folder on my knee and squared it against the edge of the bench.

It had grown heavier in the four weeks since I’d first carried it out of my own kitchen.