The young man looked at my face, then at the suitcase, and his shoulders dropped with relief. “Mr. Whitlock?” he asked quietly. “I’m Tyler. I have been trying to find a way to reach you for two weeks.” He pushed open the storm door and held out a manila envelope with both hands. “Please, before anyone says anything, read the top page. I am not here to cause trouble. I think your son is in serious trouble.”

Marlene took the envelope before I could and read the first lines. I watched the color leave her face. “Russell,” she whispered, “this is a notice from the bank.” Behind Tyler, the hallway floor creaked, and a young woman in a gray sweater appeared at the stairs, holding a rent receipt book against her chest, her eyes filled with tears.