My Father Tossed a Blue Savings Passbook into the Mud at Cedar Ridge
“It’ll be enough to get started,” he said.
“The courts move slowly in November.”
I stood up from the chair.
The leather cushion hissed as it deflated.
“Does your father know you’re asking these questions?” Arthur asked.
“He thinks I’m just being greedy,” I said.
“Keep it that way,” Arthur said.
“If Gregory thinks he’s won, he’ll get sloppy.