Anthony Shaw, on the other hand … for years, Michael had planned to someday send him a message loud and clear. Back when Avery was born and he and Shelby sorted through all their financials, Michael finally checked on “his” bank account and discovered that Anthony, who’d cosigned and had equal access to the account, had withdrawn so much that there was barely enough to keep the account open. That was money that was supposed to go to Ann. Michael knew Ann was getting screwed over, and even though she’d sold him upstream, he couldn’t stand the thought of her struggling. He was so upset that he’d finally told Shelby the full story about the Gordons.

He didn’t have much money then, not after he’d used the other check Anthony had given him to buy his partnership in Jason’s business, but he suffered from lingering feelings of guilt for accepting Anthony’s payoff in the first place. Michael worked it out with the bank and scraped together some of his own money to send to Ann, a little here, a little there, always in odd amounts that probably confused her since she’d been used to getting the same amount every month. Shelby was generally supportive, but during the financial crisis, when they were really struggling to get by, she told him that it was time to wash his hands of Ann and her “situation.” After all, Shelby said, Ann was the one who’d fallen in love with a jerk, and she was the one who’d come up with the stupid plan in the first place.

Enough was enough.

Michael took off his heavy gloves and scooped the house key out of the bulb digger. The heavy, old key to the Gordon house slid into the lock. He heard the familiar click and opened the door, inhaling the familiar, musty odor. But this time something was different. Someone had been there. He spied a Starbucks cup with lipstick on the kitchen table. He picked it up and pulled off the lid. The little bit of coffee left inside had frozen solid. “Hello?” he said, although he could sense that he was alone.

The rooms were just as they’d been the last time he’d been there, the beds and all the furniture covered in sheets. He felt as if he were in the middle of a morgue. Then he saw something he also hadn’t seen before: a business card with a photo of the ocean as the background. He picked it up: Carol Hargrove. Her photo was off to one side. She wasn’t even smiling. She didn’t look like any Realtor he’d ever met. She looked like she belonged outdoors, like she worked on his landscaping crew.