Nineteen Thousand Dollars, a Forged Signature, and a Flight to the Dominican Republic
“I’m not talking to you anymore,” Derek said.
“I want a lawyer.”
He hung up.
The call dropped with a sharp electronic beep, and the screen went dark in my hand.
Rebecca arrived at seven forty.
I knew it was her before she spoke, because the nurse pointed down the corridor and a woman in a navy blazer started toward me with the kind of stride that belongs to someone who has already decided how the conversation will end.
“Hannah?” she said.
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