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

I had asked Mr.

Gable to pull the full archive.

The stack was over two inches thick and held together with a heavy rubber band.

It was my detailed farm records from the last decade.

I snapped the rubber band off and spread the pages across the table in front of Arthur.

They covered the fake ledger completely.

“Those are my actual bank statements,” I said.

“Every equipment repair, every seed purchase, every property tax bill.”