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

“You’re stopping the bleeding right now.”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his own set of keys, and dropped them back in.

He held out his right hand, palm up.

“Give me the keys,” he said.

I looked at his open hand.

“To the truck?” I asked.

“It’s the only thing you have left that’s worth a damn,” Arthur said.

“I’m taking it.