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

“Ranata,” Helen asked.

“Where did the retirement money go?”

Ranata looked at the dark oven glass, then down at the floor tile.

She kept twisting the rings.

She didn’t answer.

“We gave you two hundred and twelve thousand dollars over the last three years,” Arthur said.

“Two hundred and twelve thousand four hundred dollars,” I said.

“According to her fake book.”