Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
We entered the courtroom, where the air was colder and the high ceiling made every footstep echo. Sable sat with her back perfectly straight, wearing a tailored navy suit that I had not seen before. Her red fingernails tapped a rapid, impatient beat against the polished surface of the mahogany defense table.
Nathan sat beside her, his shoulders hunched forward and his hands jammed deep into his trousers pockets. He did not look up when the heavy door clicked shut behind us.
We took our seats at the opposite table, leaving twelve feet of empty floor between us.
“Do not look at her, Cassandra,” Frank whispered, opening his briefcase with two sharp clicks of the brass locks.
“I am looking at my son,” I said.
“He will have to choose his own words today,” Frank said, lifting a thick blue folder from the leather interior.
The blue folder was the same one Sable had held on the stairs two weeks after the funeral, the one she claimed contained the standard estate inventory. Frank laid it flat on the wood, placing a yellow legal pad directly beside it.
