Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
I picked up my black ink pen, its barrel warm from sitting near the teacup. I began to write, my handwriting small and precise on the paper. I drafted the terms of the final asset distribution, detailing every piece of furniture, every heirloom, and every bank account that Gordon had left behind.
Martha stood beside my chair, leaning in to look at the columns of numbers. “Are you really going to list everything? Even the things Sable already took?”
“Especially those,” I said, my finger tracing the gold wedding band on my left hand. “We need a complete record of the estate before we can show the court how much has been removed.”
“But Nathan,” Martha whispered, pausing to look out the front window toward the street. “If you include the forged home equity loan, the police will get involved.”
“Sable made her choice when she signed his name,” I said.
I wrote down the figure of the forged loan, eighty-four thousand dollars, and underlined it twice. It was the exact amount Sable had taken against the house to clear her personal credit cards.
