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

Desmond stepped out into the cold.

He wore a gray business suit with no tie, his collar unbuttoned.

I opened the back door before he could knock on the glass.

“Desmond,” I said.

He jumped slightly.

He looked past my shoulder into the messy kitchen, then stared down at his expensive leather shoes.

“Fay,” he said.

“Ranata wanted me to drop this off on my way home from work.”