And that instinct to capture everything I’m seeing on paper only becomes worse when we go inside. A guard in a black suit escorts us through a two-story A-frame foyer into an open-plan great room, kitchen, and dining area space.

The entire downstairs is sparsely furnished, with only a wrap-around couch in the great room and a round table with chairs in the dining area. But my animator's eye is totally impressed with the dynamic walls.

Done up in dark grey textured tiles, they feature everything from bookshelves to several tactile wall art pieces, which keeps the living room from looking like a minimalist nightmare.

The floors are also dynamic. No carpets anywhere, but there are a couple of paths made out of pearly raised dots. They blend into the interior way more subtly than the neon yellow tactile flooring at the Rhode Island Design School.

Thanks to missing my MFA presentation, I'm no longer a grad student at RhIDS. And I only know enough about interior design to do rough background sketches for my dreamy animation work before handing that part of the project over to a specialist. But I've got enough real-world knowledge to guess someone commissioned a team of specialized designers to put together this living room. The space radiates with both power and strong intent.

I get the same sense that I got when I first entered Victor's apartment in Japan—that it's a reflection of the people who live here.

I glance over at my brother as the guard leads us into the living room. I still don't love that he's apparently on the Ferraro Family payroll, his dirty cop paycheck as steady as the one he gets from his department. It feels like he's walking in Dad's footsteps, though I'm still not clear on whether or not he's doing some kind of undercover work.

It feels like Byron’s playing a dangerous game. But maybe he was right about me coming here for help with my Victor problem. These are the only people I've ever met who floss as hard as he does.

About a minute after we sit down, a cute kid with long curly hair and light brown skin shows up. "My mom is getting ready. She said to tell you she'll be right out."

Then she drops her voice to say, "Today is the anniversary of the day my parents got married—the second time, not the first. Don't forget to tell her happy anniversary!"

Okay, that sounds like an interesting story.

"We for sure won't," my brother assures her. He sounds totally pleasant as if we've just stopped in for a Sunday visit. He really does take after our dad.

I want to smile at the little girl, too, but it curdles on my mouth.