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

The brass key went into the lock.

I turned it until the deadbolt clicked into the strike plate.

I twisted the round knob to make sure the lock held.

The excavators would arrive in three days and crush the oak beams into splinters.

The house, the barn, the office, all of it would be flattened to make room for a subdivision of identical houses.

I slipped the key into my jeans pocket and walked to the white pickup.

My cell phone buzzed in the center console.