Chapter Twenty: For the Money

                                    

                                          
Chapter Twenty
                          
For the Money
                          

                          
“Two point eight million dollars,” I repeat. I’m not aware I’ve sunk to the floor beside Colton until I feel the warm press of his knee against mine. “That’s a lot of money.”
                          

                          
Colton laughs without humor. “Yeah it is.”
                          

                          
My eyes search the eight baseball cards before me until they come across one that says at the top ‘Honus Wagner’. It features a picture of a square-jawed young man with short black hair and an unsmiling face. He’s wearing a Pittsburg uniform.
                          

                          
I start to reach for it, to see if it really is him.
                          

                          
“Stop!” Colton and Mr. Emerson yell together, their voices mingling and echoing in the small confines of the attic.
                          

                          
I quickly redraw my hand. “What?”
                          

                          
“You can’t touch it,” Mr. Emerson says. “We don’t know what condition it’s in and it will only worsen the more you man-handle it. We need to keep it in the sleeve and take it to a dealer somewhere to be appraised.”
                          

                          
“Okay,” I agree.
                          

                          
None of us move.
                          

                          
It’s funny how when you possibly have 2.8 million dollars in front of you, you don’t want to tear your eyes away.
                          

                          
“Alright,” Mr. Emerson says finally, putting his hands on his knees and standing. “Here’s the plan: Colton and Cassidy, go find me a yellow pages. There should be one somewhere downstairs. I’m going to check to see if there are any more baseball cards in this box and then meet you downstairs. I expect a phone number to a nearby dealer ready when I get down there.”
                          

                          
Colton and I exchange bewildered looks.
                          

                          
Mr. Emerson claps his hands once and yells, “Break!”
                          

                          
Colton shrugs at me and stands. He offers me a hand and helps pull me to my feet.
                          

                          
“Don’t dawdle, children,” Mr. Emerson warns from his crouched position next to the box. “And no making out in the pantry!”
                          

                          
Colton and I hurry downstairs.
                          

                          
Once there, Colton rummages through some of the boxes we stacked against a wall of the kitchen. All are neatly labeled and organized, if I do say so myself. I take a seat at the kitchen table.
                          

                          
“Didn’t we see yellow page books in here?” He asks me, his hand in one of the boxes.
                          

                          
“In the kitchen, yes. In that box, no.”
                          

                          
Colton raises his eyebrows at me. I elaborate.
                          

                          
“That box says cookie sheets. You might want to check inside the one that says Misc. Paper Items.” I wave a hand at said box, which is tucked in a corner.