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

I stared at the front steps and waited.

The brass handle on the front door turned.

Ranata stepped out onto the porch in a spotless white wool sweater, holding a stainless steel travel mug in her left hand.

She looked at the empty spot on the concrete where the groceries had been.

Then she looked up.

She saw my truck in the driveway.

She saw me sitting behind the wheel.

We stared at each other across forty feet of manicured lawn.