“Eventually,” Noah said.
She continued through account options, protected funds, tax questions, and the right to independent financial advice.
Noah’s attention drifted.
I asked for a break.
He refused.
“I want it finished.”
Felicity placed the signature page before him.
“You are not surrendering future authorized medical care,” she said. “You are accepting the assessed personal award.”
Noah picked up the pen.
His hand trembled slightly.
He signed.
The name slanted upward.
When he put the pen down, he stared at it.
“That’s it?”
“Once processed, funds should transfer within ten business days.”
He nodded.
His face showed no relief.
Outside, we walked slowly to the station wagon.
The cane clicked against concrete.
At the passenger door, Noah stopped.
“What does someone do with that much money?”
“Whatever you decide.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“We don’t need one today.”
I helped him into the seat, then loaded the cane.
When I started the engine, he stared through the windshield.
“This changes things,” I said gently.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“It changes the account balance.”
