Thirty-Six Pages of Bank Receipts and the Chicago Mortgage Transfer I Finally Canceled
“I need your answer by nine o’clock sharp Monday morning.
Are you coming to Lisbon or staying in Chicago?”
“Give me until Monday, then,” I said.
“Nine sharp on Monday,” David said, and ended the call.
I put the phone down and spread the stack of bank papers across the passenger seat, turning through them page by page under the gray parking lot light.
On October twelfth, six hundred dollars in cash had been taken out of an ATM inside a grocery store three blocks from the house.
On October nineteenth, seven hundred dollars in cash.
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