Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“Benson finds the weak link in every family,” I said.
“He does,” Vance said. “He offers them an easy way out of a tight spot, and they do not realize they are committing a felony until the papers are already filed.”
The gravel in the diner parking lot was dry and dusty, shifting under my boots as I walked toward the back of the building.
The midday heat was rising from the asphalt, smelling of burnt oil and grease from the diner’s kitchen vents.
Chad, thirty-eight, my older brother, was leaning against the fender of his blue sedan, nervously flipping his silver lighter.
“You should not have come here, Maria,” Chad said, his voice a slow, mocking drawl. “I told you we do not have anything to talk about.”
“We have sixty-four thousand dollars to talk about,” I said, stopping two feet from him.
“I do not know what you mean,” Chad said, stopping the lighter with his thumb.
“I saw the bank records, Chad,” I said. “The sixty-four thousand dollars went from Benson’s escrow account directly to an offshore sportsbook in Antigua. That is your gambling account.”
