Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“And the criminal charges from my side?” I asked.
“That is entirely up to you, Cassandra,” Frank said. “The district attorney will follow your lead, and if you want to press charges for the forgery against the estate, we have the evidence to proceed.”
I looked down at my hands, my thumb tracing the worn edge of my wedding band as I thought of the twenty years I had spent building a life in this house, and how quickly it had all turned to dust.
“I do not want her in jail, Frank, I just want her gone,” I said, my voice steady in the quiet kitchen.
“Are you certain?” Frank asked, his pen hovering over the signature line.
“I am certain,” I said. “Signing those papers and knowing she can never set foot on this property again is enough.”
Frank nodded slowly, as if he had expected nothing less from me, and laid the blue folder on the table.
I signed my name at the bottom of the page, the black ink shining wet under the kitchen light.
