A Twenty-Dollar Bill Dropped Into the Dust Beside a Tennessee Highway
At seven in the morning I tucked the folded hospital birth certificate into my inside jacket pocket and walked into the main terminal building.
The heavy brass locks on the double doors of the second-floor boardroom were already open when I got to the top of the stairwell.
Tiffany was sitting in my big leather swivel chair in the middle of the long mahogany table, wearing a crisp navy blazer with silver buttons.
Her sister Chloe stood at the windowpane, checking her reflection in the dark glass and sipping coffee from a paper cup.
Two men in dark gray suits sat on Tiffany’s left, their wide leather briefcases open on the polished wood.
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