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

“I’m not giving you a single dollar,” I said.

Ranata stepped toward me and reached for my arm.

“You have thirty-nine million,” Ranata said.

“Two hundred thousand is nothing to you.

It’s pocket change.”

“It’s stolen money,” I said.

“I’m your sister,” Ranata said.

“You stole their retirement,” I said.