Julian pressed his thumb against his watch clasp, his hearty expression disappearing completely.

“Dad told me three months ago that I was taking over his accounts once his heart started failing,” Julian said.

“Don’t get stubborn on me, Elena.”

“The accounts stay locked,” I said.

Julian stared at me for three seconds without saying a word, then snapped his briefcase shut and walked out through the screen door.

Dad passed away quietly in his sleep two mornings later, just as the sun cleared the maple trees on Elm Street.

At ten o’clock the following morning, I was sitting in the high-backed leather chair in Samuel Price’s law office on Maple Avenue.