Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“If we move too early, her lawyer will file for a continuance,” Frank said. “We need the judge to see the forgery and the unauthorized listing at the exact same moment.”
He leaned forward, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose.
“If she thinks she has won, she will not prepare a defense for the forgery.”
“So I must let her sell my furniture?” I asked.
“We have already logged the inventory,” Frank said. “Anything she sells now only increases the damages she will owe you.”
He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small white envelope.
“For now, we wait.”
The kitchen clock on Martha’s wall ticked with a heavy, metallic rhythm at six o’clock.
Two mugs of chamomile tea sat between us, the steam rising in thin, gray spirals toward the ceiling.
Through the window, the evening shadow of the River Oaks estate stretched across the lawn.
“She thinks you are defeated,” Martha said, setting her spoon on the saucer. “She thinks you are sleeping in my guest room because you have nowhere else to go.”
