My Grandfather Asked Who Stole My Company Right Before The Police Came

do that in front of the glowing tree and the ruined pie and the indent my father’s fists had left in the tablecloth.

Grandpa put one hand over mine.

Dry skin. Heavy hand.

“You still want it?” he asked.

I stared at the folder.

The company.

The mess.

The debt.

The lie sitting all over it like ash.

Three years of my life stolen by people who smiled while they continue reading …