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

It stood right next to the stone pillar my grandfather had built by hand in nineteen sixty-two.

The rough mortar was crumbling near the base.

“They’re taking the pillar too,” he said.

He didn’t say it like a question.

I took a sip of my coffee.

The steam rose in front of my face and vanished into the cold air.

“When does the clearing crew start?” I asked.

“Three weeks,” he said.