Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table
His gaze stayed firmly locked on the concrete step.
“Help with what, exactly?” I asked.
“I haven’t asked either of you for a single dollar.”
“It isn’t about asking,” Desmond said.
“It’s about being prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” I asked.
“She stays up late worrying about you,” Desmond said.
“She barely sleeps.