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

suit climbed out of the Mercedes. His hair was more salt than pepper at the temples, and the lines in his face suggested a life of carefully managed stress. His tie alone probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

“Mr. Cross,” he said, stepping forward and extending his hand.

I shook it. His grip was firm, but there was a tremor in it.

“Thank you for continue reading …