Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table
I didn’t knock.
I didn’t announce myself.
I turned away from the door and walked down the three brick steps.
My work boots made a dull scuffing sound on the stone.
I skipped the paved walkway completely and stepped onto the damp grass.
I zipped up my canvas jacket.
The suburban street was completely quiet.
A yellow delivery van turned the corner three blocks away.
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