“Richard transferred your Elm Street house into Oakmont Holdings yesterday afternoon,” Marcus said.

“If I hand this over today, the bank takes your home.

You’ll lose twenty-three years of equity and your whole financial safety net to the seizure.”

I looked out the windshield at the quiet diner parking lot.

A delivery truck was slowly backing up to the kitchen doors.

I thought about Ethan sleeping on a shelter floor.

I thought about Richard threatening to call the police on his own son over a baby he had abandoned.

“He thought taking the house would break us, but he just handed us the weapon,” I said.