Miller and Mr.

Davis, sat on Dean’s left with yellow legal pads open in front of them.

“Clara,” Dean said, flicking a speck of dust off his coat sleeve before putting his mug down on a paper coaster.

“I told you Sunday we could sort out your checking account problem without dragging in the board.”

“We’re not here about my checking account, Dean,” I said.

I pulled out a heavy oak chair across from him, while Sophie sat on my left and Vance took the head of the table.