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“My dad owns every law firm in this province,” the lawyer’s daughter laughed after ramming her brand-new Tesla into my old Subaru

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softly. “Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes we can.”

Later that night, after Sophie was asleep and the house was quiet again, I opened my email one more time, navigated to the drafts folder, and hovered over the unsent message to the journalists.

My cursor lingered there for a moment.

Then I selected the email and hit delete.

A small dialog popped up, asking if continue reading …

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