Thirty-Six Pages of Bank Receipts and the Chicago Mortgage Transfer I Finally Canceled
I unlocked the front door at seven forty-five and nudged it open with my knee.
Two heavy navy blue suitcases stood side by side on the wool rug in the middle of the foyer.
They were my big flight bags, the ones that usually sat on the top shelf of my bedroom closet.
Both were stuffed full and zipped shut.
Brent came out of the living room archway.
He rapped his knuckles on the wooden door frame, three quick knocks.
“What are those doing down here?” I asked.
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