Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
She did not look like the woman who had ordered my three suitcases onto the wet driveway.
“We need to talk, Cassandra,” she said, her voice tight and high-pitched. “Just you and me.”
“There is nothing left to discuss, Sable,” I said, standing near the bottom of the stairs. “The judge made his ruling very clear this morning.”
She took two steps toward me, her heels clicking rapidly on the marble, before she stopped herself and glanced toward the living room where Nathan was still packing.
“The judge froze the accounts, but he did not sign the criminal referral yet,” she whispered, her fingers tapping nervously against the gold clasp of her purse. “I know Frank Higgins is pushing for fraud charges, and I know what a felony conviction will do to my life.”
“You forged my son’s name to steal my home,” I said, keeping my voice quiet and deliberate.
“I did what I had to do to keep us afloat,” she said, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself. “Nathan was ready to let everything go, and he didn’t have the stomach for what it takes to survive in this city.”
