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

He looked at the thick stack of fake bills, then at Ranata, and slowly shook his head.

He walked away from the sink, passed right behind his wife without touching her, and headed down the hallway toward the front door.

The heavy oak front door opened and closed as Desmond walked out of the house.

I gathered up my fifteen years of paid receipts and the thirty-nine-million-dollar closing statement.

I slid the thick papers back into the brown folder and closed the cover.

I picked up the rental car keys from the table.