Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“Yes,” I said.
“He looked so small out there,” she said, watching the street.
“He has spent years making himself small so Sable could feel large,” I said.
I opened my leather notebook on my lap, looking at the columns of assets, the numbers that represented Gordon’s forty years of hard work. The nineteen million dollars in the private trust was safe, but the home where we had raised our son was now a crime scene of greed.
Sable believed she had won because she had the keys to the front door and my three leather suitcases were sitting in Martha’s hallway. She had no idea that the formal hearing on November fourteenth would strip her of everything she had stolen.
I felt the cool metal of my wedding band against my palm as I rubbed the gold ring. I had spent eight weeks grieving my husband while being hunted by my own family.
The time for patience was over. I had the bank drafts, the forged signatures, and the law on my side.
