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

into a saint. I don’t think my deleted email erased every instance of Ashford and Associates using their clout to tilt the table in their favor.

But I know, with the kind of quiet certainty that doesn’t need applause, that in one Loblaws parking lot on Bank Street, on one ordinary Friday afternoon, the usual script got interrupted.

A rich girl who was continue reading …