Seven Crumpled Dollar Bills on a Pine Table in Michigan

“Where is Donald now?” Mike asked.

“He is waiting at the clubhouse gate with a deputy,” Shark said.

The wooden floorboards of the clubhouse porch were cold under Mike’s boots when they arrived at four o’clock. Inside, the oil heater hummed, but it did little to cut the chill in the air.

Sarah was sitting on the edge of the sofa, packing Tyler’s small continue reading …