He held up his wad of cash to Michael’s face. ‘This is my money.’ He pocketed the cash, reached in his jacket pocket, and withdrew an envelope. ...��And this,’ he smiled his smug smile that he smiles when he thinks he is being so smart, ‘is your money.’ He handed Michael the envelope. ‘What’s this?’ Michael looked at the envelope, opened it, and pulled out a cashier’s check. It looked real enough, but even after having worked for two banks, Neighborhood Bank and Earth Bank for all of those years,. Those with her were well-dressed, but her, not so much. Her dress was pretty and looked great on her. It wasn’t Ball-Cart or Red Spot, but it was from one of the mall stores in a lower-middle-class part of town outside of LA.“You’re cancer has been in remission for five years today. Happy Birthday. We are sorry your grandfather passed before he could bring you here. It was one of the last things he requested before he died,” one of the grey-haired, wrinkled men with her said.One of the women. More

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