“When we realized you were the Paul in ‘robbing Peter to pay Paul,’ yes, I called.” But I soften as I remember that call. “Hearing your voice brought back other things. Good things. You were always a comfortable part of our family. And you were always nice to my mom.”

A corner of his mouth quirks at the compliment.

Pressing the advantage, I say, “Elizabeth’s business meant everything to her. If she knew it was failing, what did she do?”

I’m not sure if there is an expiration date for attorney-client privilege. But Paul has to be realizing that with Dad now dead, Mom and Elizabeth both gone, and Jack and I being next of kin, secrecy is overkill.

Glancing around, he spots the long bench at the spot where the Sabathian drive forks from the circle. It is half-hidden by rangy junipers whose blue-green hue camouflages the weathered wood. A gnarled oak rises behind, offering shade.

Heading there, he waves us along, but when we reach it, he doesn’t sit. Nor does Jack. I do. Crossing my legs, I tuck my still-blowing hair under the shoulder of my black dress. Then I sit back in silent expectation.

After a minute, Paul cedes. “There was money taken—borrowed,” he adds with air quotes and eyes Jack, “from her family estate.”

“Did you advise that?” he asks.

“No. It was done before I learned of it. Your mother wasn’t proud of the company’s decline. She was hoping money from the estate would shore it up and that she could repay it with no one the wiser.” He stops short.

Jack finishes. “Only it didn’t pick up.”

“No.” Paul’s voice gentles. This is Jack’s mother he’s talking about, and Paul Schuster is nothing if not kind. “She truly did think of what she borrowed as a loan, but when the business continued to tank, she was in trouble.”

“And you suggested … what?” Jack asks in annoyance.

It is less that I feel a sudden loyalty to Paul, than that using him as a scapegoat just isn’t fair. Reaching out, I grab Jack’s fingers again, hoping to calm him.

Paul says, “She was in the process of considering various options, when the lawyer for the estate did an accounting.”

“Ronald Doe,” Jack says.

“Yes. He noticed the missing money and asked your mother about it. As executor of the estate, she could explain it away, but the money was still gone. She was terrified that if Doe looked too deeply, she would be charged with embezzlement, in which case she might lose everything. She and I talked about downsizing the company, selling it, even declaring bankruptcy.” He sighs. “Well, I talked about it. She listened, but she kept insisting that if she hung in a little longer, things would improve.” He slips me a look of regret. “When things kept sliding, there was only one person she trusted enough to go to.”