Forty-One Thousand Dollars and a Yellow Paper Envelope

That night I came back to the motel with a paper cup of coffee and found Dustin Miller sitting on the hood of his car outside my door.

He bounced on his heels.

“You have the yellow envelope.”

I stopped at the bottom of the concrete steps.

“What envelope?”

“The one Elias gave you at the cemetery.

The one my father left.” He held out his hand.

“I want it.”