Daniel came in the front door with a leather portfolio and a glossy folder from a high-end tailor in Richmond.

He tossed the folder onto the dining table right beside my father’s silver pocket watch, which I was putting back together with a jeweler’s screwdriver.

“Eighteen hundred dollars,” Daniel said, booming the words out to fill the room.

He knocked his heavy gold ring hard against the glass top of the oak sideboard.

“That’s what a custom tailor charges for a proper gala tuxedo.

Double-breasted, imported wool.”