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

I pulled my arm back sharply.

She let go.

“We can make this right,” Ranata said.

“You write Mom and Dad a check for the two hundred and twelve thousand.

You tell them it was all a terrible misunderstanding about the farm expenses.”

“No,” I said.

“You have to,” Ranata said.

“They’ll never forgive me.