The first call I got on Tuesday was from Marcus, at seven in the morning, laughing so hard he could barely speak.
"His bank called me."
"Why would his bank call you?"
"Because I'm his emergency contact on some account. He listed my number. He's listed it for years, I don't know why, probably because he needed a reference once and never took it off." Marcus wheezed. "The bank wanted me to confirm his date of death. Elle, I told them the truth. I told them I'd been waiting for this day his whole life."
I laughed, which I had not done in weeks. It felt strange, like a muscle I had forgotten.
By nine, I had a voicemail from an unknown number.
By ten, I had a second one.
At 11:20, while I was in a compliance meeting, my phone rang three times in a row. I put it on silent. During lunch, I
