My Father Tossed a Blue Savings Passbook into the Mud at Cedar Ridge
Miller’s private office had no windows.
He motioned toward a heavy leather guest chair across from his large mahogany desk.
Lauren stepped in after us and stood with her back flat against the closed door, still biting her lower lip.
“Please have a seat,” Mr.
Miller said.
He sat down in his big rolling chair and woke up his computer.
“I need your government-issued ID right now.”
I opened my purse with shaking hands and gave him my driver’s license.
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