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

I took out a heavy stack of paper-clipped documents and laid them right next to her fake leather book.

“Every single farm expense, fully paid, for the last fifteen years.”

Arthur reached across the table and grabbed the fake ledger.

He flipped through the pages until he found a yellow sticky note.

“Nine thousand four hundred dollars for a baler repair in August,” Arthur read.

“My baler works perfectly,” I said.

“I bought a brand-new one in April.”

Helen set her mug down on a cork coaster and rested her empty hands on the edge of the table.