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

I pushed a wide push broom across the floorboards.

The stiff bristles gathered fifty years of dirt, dust, and dried mud into a small pile near the doorframe.

The walls showed pale rectangular outlines where my heavy file cabinets used to stand.

I scooped the dirt into a plastic dustpan and dumped it into a black trash bag.

I tied the plastic in a hard knot.

My footsteps echoed loudly in the hollow room.

I walked over to the corner where my desk had been and checked the floorboards one last time.