They Demanded a 60-Course Birthday Feast to Prove They Owned Me — So I Delivered Exactly 60 Dishes, and an Eviction Notice
The screen lit the dark kitchen with a cold blue light, and I dialed a number I had memorized a year earlier and never quite let myself call.
Darcy had been my college roommate, twenty years ago.
She was now one of the most feared, most ruthless, most expensive divorce attorneys in the city of Chicago.
She answered on the third ring.
“Darcy,” I said.
“That offer you made me a year ago.
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