The lobby outside was dim and quiet.

The receptionist had gone to lunch, and the wide room was completely empty.

I crossed to the corner where a high-backed leather chair stood beside the window.

I sat down on the leather cushion and laid the quitclaim deed across my lap.

The numbers fell into line in my head like an audit trail.

A hundred and eight thousand dollars in cash transfers over three years.

Four hundred dollars a month in utility bills charged automatically to my credit card.