Forty-One Thousand Dollars and a Yellow Paper Envelope
She looked at me over the top of the clipboard and didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then she set the packet on the desk, squared it, and slid it into her bag instead of the tray on the wall behind her.
“Monday,” she said.
“Nine o’clock, if it goes that long.”
“That’s four days.”
“That’s four days.” She tapped the pen again, twice, and stopped herself.
“You should keep your receipts, Mr.
Prescott.
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