Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table
“You should ask Desmond,” I said.
“If he answers his phone.”
“That isn’t fair,” Ranata said.
“That isn’t my problem,” I said.
I reached past her shoulder and turned the brass knob on the front door.
The cold night air rushed over the threshold.
Arthur stepped out of the kitchen and joined us in the narrow hallway.
He held my old truck keys tight in his right hand.
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Everyone laughed when they sent an eighty-year-old man and his eighteen-year-old wife off to spend their wedding night together. “Let’s see if Grandpa can make it until morning,” one relative joked through a burst of laughter. He didn’t respond. He simply picked up his old briefcase and closed the door. When six relatives opened it the next morning, they stopped laughing when they discovered what he had been protecting all night.
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