Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table

I stood in the kitchen and looked at the empty wicker basket on the floor by the trash can.

I picked it up to carry it out to the burn barrel.

The woven bottom felt uneven in my hands.

I tipped the basket sideways under the overhead light.

A piece of stiff white paper was wedged tightly between the wicker slats at the base.

I set the basket on the counter and pulled the paper free.

It was a receipt, folded perfectly in half.

The ink was dark and crisp on heavy thermal paper.