f the porch, his face a blotchy mess of fury and despair, and screamed at Chloe

a relic from another decade, backfired loudly as it pulled up to the curb right in front

a simple work shirt and jeans, but he stood with a ramrod-straight posture that seemed out

deep and respectful. "I am Arthur

rch, her voice loud enough for the nosy neighbors peeking through their

sed only Chloe. "My apologies for the vehicle, Miss. The mast

ore. They were convinced Chloe's real family was a clan of impoverished hoarders,

st was a Patek Philippe, its understated elegance screaming wealth. His movements were precis

he lawn. "Well, Chloe," she sneered, "looks like you're going from a mi

least they came for me," she said, her words striking Jo

rk. Joella's smug e

s man, despite the strange circumstances, felt like the only solid thing in a world t

that was comical in its contrast to the decrepit truck. "Again,

rs whispering. "Look, the Miller's charity case

twitching curtains of the houses around them. It was just a look, but it was filled with an au

nerving clarity. "From this day forward, Miss Beaumont has no connection to you. Any disrespe

g in the air, confusing and unsettli

As the old Ford rumbled away, she saw the Millers in the rearview mirror, t