Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
The assistant manager showed us into a small private booth with wood paneling and two high-backed leather chairs. I placed my black leather notebook on the polished table, keeping my hand flat against the cover.
“Frank, we need to know the exact status of Gordon’s personal accounts,” I said.
Frank adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes scanning the ledger pages I had opened for him. “The probate filings Sable submitted claim there is less than fifty thousand dollars in the primary account, Cassandra.”
“That is impossible,” I said, rubbing the gold band on my ring finger. “Gordon kept a running balance of at least four hundred thousand for the business expenses alone.”
“The documents she filed are public record now,” Frank said, pulling a sheet of paper from his leather briefcase. “She lists the total probate estate at forty-eight thousand six hundred dollars.”
“She is hiding the rest, Frank,” I said. “She must be.”
“I can request an immediate verification of the balances,” Frank said, his voice dropping to a low, cautious whisper. “But it usually takes the bank three weeks to process a formal attorney request during probate.”
