“Back of the garage,” Daniel told his boots.

“It’s unlocked.”

I stood by the driver’s door of my sedan, turning the silver ring on my right thumb as I ticked off each item on my clipboard.

Three years of mortgage payments, structural upkeep, and credit balances had come to one hundred and forty-two thousand dollars, every cent of it from my corporate earnings.

Every last transfer was now documented in Frank’s red file back at the Lake Street office, right down to the city tax assessments on the property.

The movers came back for the tall mahogany wardrobe that used to stand by the bedroom window.