only a handful of distant relatives and a couple of old acquaintances. As I stood by the grave, feeling the weight of the loss, a man in a sharp, dark suit approached me. He looked out of place in the small cemetery, carrying an air of official business.
“Are you Anthony?” he asked, his voice low and respectful. “The neighbor who looked after Mr. Harrison?” I nodded, unable to find my voice. He introduced himself as Ezra’s estate lawyer and reached into his car to retrieve an object that looked
