Forty-One Thousand Dollars and a Yellow Paper Envelope
He assumed nobody would bother.” Arthur turned a ledger around and slid it toward me.
“August.
Bottom of the page.”
The line read: Transfer out, forty-one thousand two hundred dollars.
In the margin, in pencil, in my father’s slanted hand, two letters.
JP.
“Same number,” I said.
“Same number.
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