Clara found a forged receipt for forty thousand dollars

wood smelling of old graphite and dry paper.

A drop of condensation fell from the roof, hitting the leaf of a begonia with a soft, metallic tap.

“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” Gary asked.

“No,” I said. “He has no reason to.”

“I still can’t believe he had my cousin notarize that paper,” Gary said, his voice dropping.

“It’s over now,continue reading …