He glanced over his shoulder toward the study, where Samuel Price was still organizing papers, then turned back to me with a soft, pleading expression.

“There’s thirty-one thousand left in Dad’s checking account, plus the house,” Julian said.

“We don’t need Price or that woman from First National charging two hundred dollars an hour to tear our family name apart in public.

We sign a mutual release today, split whatever remains fifty-fifty, and tell them Dad gave me those early funds for real estate investments.”

“And where did six hundred thousand dollars go, Julian?”