Forty Thousand Dollars and the Deed to Maple Avenue Bakery

plush leather chair across from Frank Miller in his office on Broad Street. Frank smiled, his booming voice filling the room as he tapped his thick leather portfolio.

“Evelyn, I heard the county is giving you a hard time about the back taxes,” Frank said. “I want to help. I really do.”

He slid a document across the polished oak desk toward me.