Owen took a breath and finished the line. “Ask your Uncle Doug what happened to the twenty-six thousand dollars he borrowed off your grandmother and me in 2013, and never paid back one dime of.” The words landed in that concrete unit like a dropped wrench. Karen turned to her husband. Doug’s boat-salesman confidence, the arithmetic in his eyes, all of it drained out at once. He opened his mouth to say something smooth, and for the first time in years, nothing smooth came.

But Hank was not done. Owen kept reading, his young voice getting steadier with every word. “There’s a ledger in the glovebox, son. Your grandmother knows. Every dollar, every date, in my own hand. I never made a fuss because families are supposed to forgive. But if that man is standing there trying to manage your grandmother’s money and call her senile, then he forfeited my forgiveness, and you have my permission to hand him the truth.” Owen reached into the glovebox and pulled out a worn little book, and Doug took a step back like it might bite him.