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

“You have thirty-nine million dollars?” Ranata asked.

Her condescending tone was completely gone.

She sounded small and hollow.

“Yes,” I said.

“But you let me buy you heating oil,” Ranata said.

“I needed to see how far you’d take the lie,” I said.

I looked at Arthur.

He was still staring at the watermark on the paper.