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

I scribbled my initials in the box.

“Heavy order,” the driver said.

“Fifty heavy-duty moving boxes.”

“They’re for my office,” I said.

“You moving out?” he asked.

“The developers take possession of the property in three weeks,” I said.

I carried four boxes inside at a time.

My office was six feet wide, built onto the back of the barn thirty years ago, with exposed pine rafters and a corrugated tin roof.