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

The paint was spotless, and the heavy tires were black and glossy.

I parked my old truck on the street by the curb and turned off the engine.

The truck rattled loudly for a second before going completely silent.

I grabbed the two plastic grocery bags from the passenger seat, opened the heavy metal door, and stepped out.

The afternoon air was getting colder.

I buttoned the top button of my faded flannel shirt.

I walked across the lawn toward the house.