Forty Thousand Dollars Demanded to Bring Our Lost Daughter Home
He tapped the edge of the blue-lined paper with his finger, waiting for me to speak.
My dad stood by the high barred window, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on the gravel parking lot below.
I rubbed my left temple, feeling the dull ache that had started at the quarry and had not let go since.
“The county attorney will want to go for the maximum penalty,” Miller said, leaning back in his swivel chair until the springs groaned.
“No,” I said, my voice quiet in the small, warm office.
“We do not want the grand larceny charge.”
Dad cleared his throat loudly, a sound that usually meant he was about to shut down a bad idea before it took root.
He did not turn around from the window, but his shoulders went rigid under his flannel shirt.
“He tried to take forty thousand dollars of our money, Andrew,” Dad said.
“He would have taken every dime of your mother’s retirement savings and never looked back.”
