The low hum of our cheap kitchen refrigerator was the only sound in the apartment at seven in the morning. Caleb’s coffee mug sat cold near the edge of the Formica table, next to a stack of old yellowed envelopes we had yet to sort. The smell of cheap filter coffee hung heavy in the air, a familiar comfort that felt entirely out of place. He stood behind my chair, his hand resting light on my shoulder, his breathing steady and slow.
On the laptop screen, the email from my father looked identical to the formal corporate memos he sent to his clients. The attachment was a three-page PDF document. At the top left of the first page was the crisp, blue-and-gold logo of Ohio Valley Trust, the local bank where my father had kept his business accounts for thirty years.
The document was titled Invoice for Family Reimbursement and Administrative Costs. The bold number at the very bottom of the ledger was seventy-three thousand four hundred eighteen dollars.
