“The very same,” Jerome said.

“Vance does not work on credit. When the probate court ruled the grandmother’s trust invalid under the secret clause, Scott’s line of credit dissolved.”

I leaned back in the vinyl chair.

“So he can’t pay them.”

“He owes them sixty thousand dollars for the preliminary filings alone,” Jerome said.

“They dropped him within two hours of the ruling.”

I looked out at the grey clouds hanging over the town.

Scott had spent weeks bragging to his friends about his high-priced defense team.

Now, he was entirely on his own.

“He will have to represent himself or find a public defender if the state files charges,” Jerome added.

“And the civil suit from his former employer?” I asked.

“He has no assets to fight it,” Jerome said. “He is drowning, Avery.”

The next afternoon, I drove past our suburban home to retrieve the remainder of my personal files.

The maple trees in the front yard had lost most of their leaves, leaving the lawn cluttered and dark.

A silver crossover vehicle was parked in the driveway, its trunk wide open.