Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
I stood up and smoothed the front of my gray knit skirt, my gold ring clicking against the wooden arm of the sofa. The receptionist did not look up from her typing as I followed him into the private room, the heavy door clicking shut behind us with a solid, final sound. The room was lined with dark mahogany bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling, filled with leather-bound volumes that had not been moved in years.
Frank did not go to his desk immediately. Instead, he walked over to the tall window that looked out onto the busy street, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
“Sable called my clerk twice yesterday afternoon,” Frank said, his back still to me.
“She wants the house, Frank,” I said, sitting in the green leather chair opposite his desk and placing my hands in my lap.
“She wants many things,” Frank replied, turning around to face me with a small, tired sigh. “But Gordon was a meticulous planner, and he understood the pressures of his family long before he fell ill.”
