For several minutes, I simply stood in my living room staring at the battered suitcase.
It was old enough that the leather had become soft and cracked around the edges. One of the brass clasps was slightly bent, and there were scratches across the bottom as though it had been dragged from one place to another many times.
I had no idea why Ezra had left it to me.
I hadn’t expected anything from him.
Not money.
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