Gemotions

The envelope felt heavy in Amelia's hands, heavier than it should. She’d intercepted it, addressed to her next-door neighbor, Arthur Finch. Finch, with his patched-up trousers and the beat-up pickup truck. She’d been delivering his mail when curiosity, a familiar but unwelcome companion, had gotten the better of her.

Inside, she found a bank statement. The numbers swam before her eyes. Millions. And then the accompanying letter, detailing a transfer to a private art gallery, for an original Picasso. Amelia stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat.

She tried to rationalize it. Tax fraud? Money laundering? But the truth, the glaring, inescapable truth, was far worse. She'd been judging him, pitying him. He’d let her. She felt a profound sense of self-disgust.