Michael closed his eyes.
“Did you reset the email password?”
“I might have.”
“To what?”
“I don’t remember. Probably something temporary.”
“Did you give it to my mother?”
“She owned the laptop as far as I knew.”
I saw Michael absorb that. A mother asking an old family friend to fix a computer. An abandoned email account. A son talking too freely about a financial opportunity.
“Aaron,” I asked, “did you send any messages to Northshore Property Consulting?”
“No.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“We’re trying to determine that.”
Michael ended the call minutes later.
“I need to talk to my mother.”
“Yes.”
Linda arrived forty minutes later. She wore a navy cardigan and carried her handbag tightly under one arm. She looked from Michael to me.
“What happened?”
Michael pointed toward the dining table.
“Sit down.”
Linda frowned.
“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child.”
