“It means Brian never had control of that money.”

I closed my eyes. “He thought he did.”

“Yes,” the attorney said. “And that may explain the placement language.”

By noon I was sitting in a county office hallway with Mason asleep against my side and Lily resting under observation back at the hospital. The chairs were hard plastic.

The floor smelled like disinfectant and burnt coffee. A small American flag stood near the reception window, its gold fringe catching the fluorescent light every time the air conditioner kicked on.

I had Brian’s note in a copy folder. I had the intake summary. I had the temporary placement packet. I had a copy of the trust summary Ellen had insisted on keeping in our fireproof box.