“You planned all this,” Daniel whispered, looking right at me.

“All that time you were sitting in the kitchen after midnight, you were setting this up.”

“I was busy paying your bills,” I said.

He pressed the pen tip to the signature line at the foot of the page, and the ink soaked fast into the heavy paper.

He signed in big, jagged strokes that ran right through the blue line.

Daniel let the pen fall onto the signed quitclaim agreement.