When My Son Reported a Theft, I Went Looking and Found the Real Ledger in Our Dallas Office
The plastic bucket rattled when the mug hit bottom.
I drove straight from the penthouse to the steakhouse on Oak Lawn Avenue, where Frank Doyle was waiting in a corner booth.
Frank had a blue canvas folder open next to his bread plate.
“The board wants the signed twelve-million-dollar bid summary by Friday,” Frank said, tapping his wooden pen on his notebook.
“Are you clear-headed enough to read page four?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes, Frank.”
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