It had become something else.
Pine Lodge sat on the edge of town with faded paint and a flickering neon sign. The room was small and clean in the anonymous way of motel rooms everywhere: a bed, a chair, a table by the window. I set my suitcase on the luggage rack and sat on the edge of the mattress and let the quiet settle around me.
Then I opened my laptop.
Thirty years in banking means you understand systems, how they work and how to work within them. I knew every call I needed to make, in what order, to what effect.
Sunday morning I spread my documents across the small table: bank statements, insurance policies, account numbers, confirmation names. A general reviewing the map.
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