She never interrupted. She turned each page with a calm that steadied me more than sympathy ever could. When she reached the forged signature, her eyes narrowed.

When she reached the guest house deed and the secondary holding account, she removed her glasses and set them on the desk.

“Before we cut anything,” she said, “we need to know every place your son has attached himself to you.”

“Everything,” I answered. “I want everything found.”

“That includes uncomfortable discoveries.”

“I had dinner alone with a cake for nine people,” I said. “I’m past comfortable.”