Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“Sable asked me to sign a deed this morning,” I said, standing by the leather armchair.
Nathan did not look up. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze fixed on the glowing columns of numbers.
“The business accounts are overdrawn, Mom,” he said, his voice trailing off into a dry whisper. He reached for a manila folder labeled Reed Freight Line, the trucking company his grandfather had started back in fifty-eight.
“Gordon always told me the company was solid,” I said.
“It wasn’t,” Nathan said, finally looking at the wall behind me. “We owe ninety-four thousand dollars to the suppliers, and the bank is calling the line of credit next week.”
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and began shuffling a stack of tax returns.
“How much is left in the main operating account?” I asked.
“Eight hundred dollars,” he said.
The cost of a private estate appraisal was thirty-five hundred dollars, a number I had seen on an invoice on the kitchen counter only three days ago.
“Did you authorize the appraisal truck last week, Nathan?”
