PART3: My Cousins Paid Me $300 to Clean Grandpa’s “Junk”—Then I Found an Envelope With My Name and Was Told to Burn It

PART 3: THE SIGNATURE THAT WASN’T MINE
Nobody moved after Pam said it.
The furnace hummed behind us. Upstairs, one of the estate-sale workers dragged a folding table across the kitchen floor.
Such a small, ordinary sound.
I would remember it for the rest of my life.
“I told you we should have emptied that drawer first.”
Pam looked at me, then at the woman holding the clipboard.
“I meant the private papers.”
I kept my eyes on Alan.
“Where did the money go?”
My brother came down one more step.
“Nancy, please.”
“Thirty-two thousand dollars. Where did it go?”
Dale reached toward the photocopy.
I stepped back so quickly that the fishing chair scraped against the concrete.
“Don’t touch it.”
“Nobody’s trying to take anything,” he said.
“You’ve had your hand out since you saw the book.”