morning is going to be very educational.”
For Daniel and Vivian.
At 8:03 the next morning, Daniel texted me.
LAST CHANCE. TRANSFER THE MONEY AND APOLOGIZE TO MOM.
At 8:07, Vivian sent a photo of three designer suitcases lined up in our foyer.
I ignored both.
Instead, Mara and I met with a locksmith, a licensed process server, and a local police officer.
The burn across my cheek throbbed. I photographed it again anyway.
Evidence mattered more than anger.
By nine, Daniel had become impatient.
“You can’t punish
