Chapter 21: Not a Loan

The board met until two in the morning and voted Gordon out before dawn.

By Monday the story was on every local channel, with the video from the atrium.

The white-tied man gave a statement on the tower steps.

By Tuesday Eli had a room above a hardware store.

He also had a day job hanging drywall for a contractor who had once worked under my father.

On Wednesday night I sat at my kitchen counter with a legal pad and a pen and did arithmetic.

I had the whole thing written out by the time he knocked.

He came in smelling of joint compound, with white dust in his hair.

"I brought dinner," he said. "It's from the place with the green awning."

"Sit down."

He put the bag on the counter and looked at my face.

"That's your lawyer voice."

"I don't have a lawyer. I have a pharmacy technician's salary and a legal pad."

I turned the pad around.

At the top I had written: Amount owed, $205,800. Under it was a table with a row for every month for the next thirty years.

"Five hundred seventy-two dollars a month," I said. "I can do that on top of rent with two extra shifts."

"It's written out. I'll sign it."

Eli looked at the pad.

He did not touch it.

"No," he said.

"Eli."

"No. It's not a loan."

"It was nine thousand eight hundred dollars a month."

"It was Martin's care."

"It was your money."

"It was money I wanted to spend." He raised his eyes to mine. "I'm not taking a cent."

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