“You’ve got nine hundred and twelve dollars in that account,” Mark said.

“I saw the paper statement on your workbench last Tuesday.”

I wiped a gray smudge of sawdust off my right thumb with the edge of my work apron.

“I’m fifty-three, Mark,” I said.

“You don’t pay for my legal problems.”

“She’s going to try to grab half of everything you built here,” Mark said.

His voice stayed flat and hard.

“I was twelve when she took off with Rob.