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

Ranata looked across the table and smiled at me.

It was a small, tight smile that stopped at her cheekbones.

“We can look for a nice little rental apartment for you in town,” Ranata said.

“Something manageable.”

I picked up my fork and ate a bite of green beans.

I didn’t tell them about the thirty-nine million dollars sitting in my account.

I didn’t tell them about the plain brown folder on the pine desk in my farm office, or the land transfer papers I had signed at nine-fourteen that morning.

I sat quietly at the dining table while Ranata gave me another small, condescending smile.