Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
I opened the notebook to a fresh page, intending to list the immediate expenses we faced, but my fingers were cold. The house felt unusually quiet, the furnace humming in the basement with a low, vibrating drone that rattled the loose window pane near the dresser.
Sable did not knock before she pushed the heavy oak door open. She held a thick blue folder in one hand, her red fingernails tapping a steady, impatient beat against the plastic cover. She looked around the small room as if she were estimating the cost of the wallpaper before she spoke.
“We need to clear up the title details before the probate filing,” Sable said, her voice high and thin. She slid a single sheet of paper out of the folder and laid it on the dresser. “The lawyers need this processed before the weekend.”
“What is that?” I asked, setting my pen down on the bed.
“It is just a standard form to keep things simple,” she said. “A quitclaim deed. It transfers your formal interest in the River Oaks property to Nathan and me so we can manage the taxes and the upkeep without any unnecessary delays.”
