Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
I looked toward the dark outline of the River Oaks house, resolved to show no mercy at the upcoming hearing.
I closed my leather notebook with a firm snap.
Frank’s briefcase made a dry, rhythmic scraping sound against his trousers as we walked toward the heavy double doors of Courtroom 3B. The courthouse corridor smelled of wet umbrellas and lemon floor wax, a damp Houston morning pressing against the tall windows.
He stopped five paces from the brass door handle and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses with his thumb.
“The clerk delivered the sealed envelope to Judge Miller’s chambers at eight forty-five,” Frank said.
“Did she sign for it?” I asked.
“She did,” Frank said, tapping the leather side of his briefcase. “The bank audit records and the certified copy of the home equity application are both inside.”
I looked down at my hands and turned the gold wedding band around my finger three times. “And Nathan?”
“He arrived ten minutes ago with Sable,” Frank said. “They are already inside, sitting on the left side of the aisle.”
