Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“Not if I cannot get inside,” I said.
A man in a blue uniform walked out of the back door of the office, carrying two large black plastic bags that he threw into the recycling bin.
Through the glass door of the building, I could see the yellow light of a shredding machine cycling on and off.
Benson was inside, systematically clearing his desk before the state bar could freeze his accounts.
“He is going to run,” Sarah whispered.
“He cannot run from a federal title injunction,” I said. “Vance is filing the emergency motion at nine tomorrow morning.”
“He can run if he has sixty thousand dollars in cash in his briefcase,” she said.
She turned to me, her hand resting on the steering wheel.
“What about your dad?” she asked.
“He chose his side,” I said.
“He is still your father, Maria,” she said.
“Not anymore,” I said.
The cleaning crew member locked the back door and walked toward his van, his shadow stretching across the asphalt.
The office lights went dark, leaving only the blue glow of the security system blinking in the window.
