Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table
I went to bed and lay awake for a long time.
At nine the next morning, I walked into Gable Accounting.
The bell above the glass door chimed.
The office smelled like printer ink.
Mr.
Gable sat behind his dark wooden desk in a crisp white shirt and a gray tie.
A large stack of printed documents sat perfectly centered on his green blotter.
“Good morning,” he said.