Mr. Sullivan led me down a narrow hallway into a quiet office and shut the door behind us. The room felt too quiet, and the clock on the wall ticked louder than it should have. He laid the check on his desk as though it might shatter. “Mr. Mitchell, this check is genuine,” he said. “The funds are there, every dollar. But that is not why I asked to speak with you.”

He removed his glasses and pressed his fingers against his eyes. “Your grandmother’s attorney called me early this morning, before you ever walked in.” My stomach dropped. “Why would her attorney call?” His voice cracked. “Because Margaret passed away in her sleep last night. And she left me instructions for whoever brought this check in whole.”