A notary set a small camera on a tripod at the foot of the bed and checked the light.

“Whenever you’re ready, Roderick,” Jace said.

Roderick was propped up on pillows, gray but clear-eyed. Brandon stood back against the wall, out of the camera’s frame, looking as though he wanted to be anywhere else and could not make himself leave.

Jace read the schedule of assets aloud, slowly and formally, for the record. “The manufacturing facility in Detroit and all associated equipment and inventory.

The residence in Bethesda. The two condominiums in the city. The vehicles. The investment portfolio. The cash and money-market accounts. Total estimated value, as of the most recent statements, eighty-two point three million dollars.”

“All of it,” Roderick said, and his voice for these words came out stronger than it had in days, as though he had been saving what he had left for exactly this, “is to be placed into a trust, managed by and for the benefit of Brandon Robbins.