Nineteen Thousand Dollars, a Forged Signature, and a Flight to the Dominican Republic
Evelyn clicked the mouse to open the Tuesday video files.
By seven forty-five the next morning, the sun was barely over the tree line behind my house.
My boots crunched on the gravel as I walked down the driveway to bring in the empty trash bin.
My phone vibrated twice in my jacket pocket, showing a number I didn’t recognize with a local seven-five-seven area code.
I answered and held the phone to my ear without speaking.
“Hannah, please don’t hang up,” Derek said, his voice wet and rasping.
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