More than two hundred thousand dollars had passed through that account and vanished, and not one dollar of it had reached the two people it was sent to keep warm and medicated and fed.
Ezra sat with that number for a long moment, and found it strangely unreal.
Two hundred thousand dollars was not, to him, a life-altering sum anymore; it was a number he moved in an afternoon at work.
That was the obscenity of it laid bare.
The exact amount that had meant nothing to him, that would have been an easy gift freely given if anyone had only asked, had been the amount his mother rationed her own heart in half to do without.
The money had never been the point.