Rachel had worn that same expression at six years old after breaking her father’s watch and hiding the pieces beneath her bed. At fifteen, after crashing our truck into a fence and blaming a neighbor. At thirty-two, after her boutique failed and she admitted she had been using new investors’ money to cover old debts.
She had always been afraid of consequences.
Marcus had always believed consequences were for other people.
“Where did you get it?” Rachel asked.
Marcus ignored her and looked at me.
“Bank name.”
“No.”
“Account number.”
“No.”
“Password.”
“No.”
He slapped his palm against the table.
“Stop saying that!”
“No.”
His chair scraped backward.
Rachel caught his sleeve.
“Marcus, don’t.”
He tore his arm away.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Yes. We leave.”
“We are not leaving without the money.”
“What if she really can’t access it?”
Marcus laughed.
“Three million dollars doesn’t disappear.”
