The Folder My Father Left
Hollingworth for rescue, but he had stopped being her advocate somewhere in the last five minutes and had become an attorney quietly calculating his firm’s exposure to a fraud case.
“It was for the family,” my mother whispered.
“You sold my grandmother’s house to fund Brock’s development project,” I said.
Brock’s hand went to his mouth.
“I was told those funds came from a legitimate sale.” “Maybe you were,” I said.
“You spent the money either way.” Fergus rose, unsteady.
“Mom.
Tell me you didn’t forge Katya’s name on a land deed.” My mother said nothing.