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

It was the exact repair Ranata had asked about on the phone, pressing me for the final cost.

The paperwork proved the machine had needed absolutely nothing.

My sister had been building a fake expense report out of thin air.

I put the papers back and sat down in my desk chair.

I woke up my laptop.

The bank website required three separate passwords for the private client portal.

I typed them in carefully.

The screen loaded.