Forty Thousand Dollars Demanded to Bring Our Lost Daughter Home
“We need to get back to the house,” I said, taking Patrick by the shoulder. “Your grandfather is waiting.”
We returned to the farmhouse as the blue twilight settled over the pasture, the shadows swallowing the cut stalks of the sunflower garden.
George sat at the kitchen table, the blue vinyl folder lying open between a salt shaker and a half-empty glass of sweet tea.
Clara stood by the stove, her hands resting on the edge of the counter as she watched her husband.
“The bank will want to know why we are cashing these early,” George said, his voice low and deliberate. “They will charge a penalty on the interest.”
“We do not have to tell them everything,” I said. “Just that we need the cash by Monday morning.”
George looked at the paper certificates, his thumb tracing the engraved borders of the top bond.
“Forty thousand is most of what we kept back for the tractor and the taxes,” he said. “It is the whole security.”
