A metallic clang came from the hallway where Spencer was already measuring the closet in the guest room. It had only been eleven days since David collapsed at his desk in his office with a cup of coffee still in his hand.
He was only thirty eight years old when a heart attack took him so fast that I still spent nights staring at my phone for a message. I kept waiting for him to say he was leaving late and that I should not wait up for him.
At the funeral, Martha wept inside the church while wearing dark glasses and accepting hugs as if she were collecting on a debt. Two days later, a registered letter arrived from her lawyer notifying me that she would claim the three million dollars she supposedly invested in the office.
She took possession of the business as if she had inherited a kingdom. She moved into the office to demand income reports and started promising that there would finally be order in the company.
Many clients took their files away in less than a week because they did not trust her. Meanwhile, Spencer showed up at my house with two suitcases and a video game console.