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

five years of my life.
The floor of the Oak Ridge Country Club was cold enough to feel through the knees of my cheap tuxedo pants, and polished so hard it caught every chandelier in the room and threw their light back at me like mockery. I could see my own reflection in that marble for a second—broad shoulders bent at an ugly angle, dark hair mussed,continue reading …