Clara found a forged receipt for forty thousand dollars

thinking of her husband, Arthur, who had passed away three winters ago in the very room where we used to study the land surveys.

“Arthur would have liked how you handled the mediator,” Evelyn said, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug.

“He would have told me to get a better lawyer,” I said, a small smile breaking through my fatigue.

“He would have,” continue reading …