Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“You let her take everything because it was easier than fighting,” I said.
He did not answer, his eyes fixed on the empty space on the wall where Gordon’s oil paintings used to hang. He was just beginning to see how much his silence had cost him, his inheritance gone and his marriage over, while I sat there with nineteen million dollars secured in a private trust he knew nothing about.
“Where will you live?” I asked.
“I found a small apartment near the office,” he said, his voice trailing off as he picked up the heavy box. “It has enough room for my drafting table and a few clothes.”
“The movers will need four hours on Friday,” he added, checking his watch before carrying the carton out to the hallway.
A few minutes later, the heavy front door clicked open, and the sharp click of high-pitched heels sounded against the marble tile of the foyer.
Sable stood in the entry, her beige tailored coat draped over her shoulders and her red fingernails clutching a small leather handbag. Her hair was damp from the afternoon mist, and her eyes were dark with a desperate, calculating energy that I had never seen in her before.
