Clara found a forged receipt for forty thousand dollars

didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the circular motion of his hand on the laminate.

“Marcus, please,” I said, leaning closer. “He is trying to take the cottage.”

He stopped wiping, the blue towel clutched tightly in his fist, his knuckles white.

“I have a business to run,” Marcus whispered, his raspy voice shaking. “I don’t need the trouble.”