Chloe called at four minutes after four, while I was standing at my kitchen sink with a sponge in my hand and nothing to wash.

“First National froze the checking account at three fifty-two,” she said.

“Delaney filed a motion this morning claiming conversion of joint assets.

The magistrate signed it.”

“That’s my salary account.”

“It’s a locked account now.

You’ve got about one thousand one hundred forty dollars you can reach until Friday.”

I put the sponge on the edge of the sink and looked at the bare stretch of rug where Micah lined up his cars.