Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“Sable is handling the paperwork,” he said, his voice dropping even lower.
He did not look at me as I closed the study door behind me. The brass handle felt cold in my palm, and the silence in the corridor was heavier than it had been before.
I walked down the long hallway toward the front of the house.
I was coming down the stairs at four o’clock when Sable stepped into the foyer from the dining room. She was holding the blue folder against her chest like a shield.
“We cannot wait on Frank Higgins to schedule an appointment,” Sable said, her voice echoing off the hardwood floor.
“I am not signing the house over, Sable,” I said, holding the banister.
Sable took two steps toward the staircase, her red nails digging into the edge of the blue plastic folder.
“We are trying to save this family from public embarrassment,” Sable said, her tone clipping each word. “If you refuse to cooperate, you are a liability we cannot afford to carry.”
She tucked the blue folder under her arm with a cold stare.
