Forty-One Thousand Dollars and a Yellow Paper Envelope
“Brenda says it’s a gift.”
Arthur polished his glasses with his tie.
He put them back on and leaned close to the paper.
“The routing number is familiar,” he said.
“Familiar how?”
He didn’t answer.
He opened his little book and ran his finger down a column of numbers.
“This is the old company account,” he said.