Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
The bailiff called the room to order at exactly ten o’clock, his voice flat and tired from a long morning of probate disputes.
Judge Miller, a grey-haired woman with sharp eyes behind black-framed reading glasses, took her seat and did not look at any of us as she opened the thick manila file. The silence in the room stretched until the only sound was the rustle of paper.
“We are here to review the administration of the estate of Gordon Reed,” Judge Miller said, her voice carrying easily in the high-ceilinged room. “Mr. Higgins, you filed an emergency petition regarding the primary residence.”
“I did, Your Honor,” Frank said, standing up and smoothing his coat. “The decedent’s widow was excluded from the home on October twenty-fourth under the guise of an estate appraisal.”
Sable leaned forward, her red fingernails pressing into the table. “Your Honor, the estate is overdrawn, and we had to protect the primary asset from deterioration.”
“Mr. Higgins has the floor, Mrs. Reed,” the judge said without looking up from her papers.
