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

Ranata followed close behind me out of the kitchen as I walked toward the front of the house.

I reached the wooden coat rack in the front hallway, pulled my faded flannel shirt off an iron peg, and put my left arm into the sleeve.

Ranata stepped right between me and the front door.

“Fay, listen to me,” Ranata said.

“Move out of the way,” I said.

“You have more than enough to fix this for me,” she said.

She reached out and grabbed the fabric of my flannel sleeve.