Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
I rubbed the gold wedding band on my finger, feeling the familiar, reassuring groove in the metal.
“We are not waiting for anything,” Sable said, taking a step toward me. “You refused to sign the quitclaim deed, which means you have made yourself a tenant without a lease.”
She pointed a red-tipped finger down the driveway toward the street.
“You have no legal right to stand on this driveway anymore.”
I did not answer her.
I looked down at the three suitcases, then back at the limestone house where Gordon and I had spent twenty years.
The driver of the truck, a young man with a tape measure clipped to his belt, climbed down from the cab.
He carried a digital clipboard and a laser measuring tool, keeping his eyes fixed on the gravel to avoid looking at either of us.
“Is the property clear for the inspection?” he asked, his voice flat.
“It is,” Sable said.
She turned back to me, her eyes narrowing as she checked her gold wrist watch.