Part One – The Note at Liberty Trust
The morning the sky over our Midwestern city turned the color of a bruise, my mother‑in‑law decided to carry a million dollars in cash across town.
Dark, heavy clouds sagged above the small houses and strip malls, promising a downpour that would soak every commuter racing down the freeway. The air felt thick enough to chew, the way it does before a big summer storm in the United States.
Carol, my mother‑in‑law, had been awake since before sunrise. The soft slap of her slippers against the hardwood floors and the clatter of her tidying downstairs made it impossible for me to sleep in, even though I’d stayed up half the night balancing the books for our small custom furniture business.
“Clara, are you up yet?” her voice boomed up the stairs with the authority of a drill sergeant.
“Hurry up, or we’ll get stuck in a long line and be there all day at the bank!”
I dragged myself out of bed, splashed water on my face, and went downstairs. Carol stood at the kitchen table, clutching a dark blue canvas duffel bag to her chest. Her fingers were white around the straps, like she expected someone to lunge for it at any second.
Inside that bag was our entire future—one neat million dollars in U.S.
cash, bundled tightly in crisp paper bands. It was the sweat and tears my husband, Ethan, and I had poured into our small furniture business over the last five years. It also included the three thousand dollars my parents had given me as a wedding gift, money I had never dared to touch.
Ethan was already dressed and sitting at the table, a mug of coffee cooling in front of him.
When he saw me, he stood abruptly and grabbed his car keys.
“You and Mom be careful, okay?” he said. “I’ve got an early meeting with a supplier, so I can’t take you downtown. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll come pick you up.”
His eyes flickered away from mine for a split second.
I noticed it, but I chalked it up to work stress and didn’t think much of it.
During the entire Uber ride to Liberty Trust Bank—one of those old stone buildings downtown with American flags flapping out front—Carol never loosened her grip on the bag. Every few minutes, she’d pat the outside, feeling the thickness of the stacked cash, her lips moving silently as she calculated interest rates.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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