Then I dragged in the original property deed file Sarah had pulled from the county records.

My phone buzzed once against the glass desk.

It was an automated text from the car dealership confirming my vehicle turn-in appointment for five o’clock the next afternoon.

I deleted the notification without answering and shut the laptop.

The downtown post office on Dearborn Street was quiet as I waited in line the next morning.

The floor was worn terrazzo tile, and a long wooden counter ran beneath tall arched windows that looked out on the city traffic.

I held a small padded mailer in my hands and could feel the hard metal shape of the house key ring pressing against the bubble lining.