“I got a call from a client. She was going on and on about her husband dying and how we’re dragging our feet on paying out his policy.”

Relief flows through me as I realize he’s being dramatic and not calling to discuss his prostate. But Frederick isn’t usually the type to exaggerate, so how bad was this client?

“Actually, she was more droning on about the money than the husband. I don’t know, maybe she’s got a house she’s trying to save or something noble like that, but . . .” He lets the word fall off, telling me he doesn’t believe that for a second.

Neither do I. And I’m beginning to get a much clearer picture. Are there cases where people are desperate to cash in a policy to make some grand gesture to save a loved one’s legacy?

Sure.

But they are much more rare than money-grubbing family members who want to take the money and run.

“Let me guess . . . Yvette Horne.”

“Yvette Horne,” Frederick confirms with a bitter chuckle. “She was worth three Alka-Seltzers, you know.”

“She came to see me a few days ago, said corporate sent her to me for the face-to-face. We filled out the claim and it’s in process. I explained that it can take some time.”

Frederick snorts. “Yeah, well, she didn’t get the message because she’s not giving us any. Woman already retained a lawyer and is sending us certified letters threatening her intention to sue if we don’t show some hustle.”

“What?” I exclaim. “And legal didn’t tell them to fuck off?” So much for my professionalism, but Yvette’s threats are way out of bounds given the timeline.

“Lawyers don’t do that, you know,” Frederick says. “They try to be more circumspect than that.” It could be a criticism, but Frederick’s tone is ramping up in frustration too.

“The man just died, and we only filled out the claim days ago,” I protest, repeating what we both already know. “Does she expect me to pull the money out of my ass like a rabbit from a hat? I’m not a magician.”

“No, she’s just trying to light a fire under our asses and get her money sooner rather than later. Which makes me question . . . is it a legit claim?”

I can appreciate his concern, especially when a widow or widower seems to be pulling a fast one. Or trying to, at least. In response, I pull the file folder from the small stack on my desk and flip it open, perusing the claim form I filled out with Ms. Horne’s help.

The next page is the death certificate with Zoey’s loopy handwriting.

“The death certificate is fine, but there’s an exception note. Toxicology reports show unusually elevated metal levels, which is weird, but not enough to be the cause of death. Hmm.” I hum out loud as I think.