Forty-One Thousand Dollars and a Yellow Paper Envelope
The young broker came back in with a folder.
“I’m going to need a new form.”
The older broker put her glasses back on.
“We’re going to need a lot more than that.”
Brenda’s hand opened.
The silver pen dropped from her fingers and hit the hardwood floor.
Brenda came around the end of the building at a half run, both hands flat on the manila folder she had carried into the boardroom.
“Mason. Mason, stop.”
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