Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table
The steel was cold through my shirt.
“I heard you at the teller window,” I said.
Helen stiffened.
Her knuckles went white against the dark mug.
“You were eavesdropping on me?” she asked.
“I was walking out,” I said.
“I heard you ask about the retirement account.”
Helen looked out the window at the passing traffic.
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