“My mother has nothing to say to you, Mr. Moretti; please return to your family at the hotel,” Noah ordered with chilling authority.
Vincent looked at the boy, his heart clearly tearing in two as he confronted the stone wall of his own son’s disdain.
Advertisement
“Noah, please, you don’t know the whole story,” Vincent begged, his voice cracking in the quiet street.
“I know that you broke your marriage vows, and I know that my mother carried my life on an administrative assistant’s salary,” Noah countered.
“Administrative assistant?” Vincent gasped, his head snapping toward me in pure, unadulterated bewilderment.
“What are you talking about? I sent twenty-five thousand dollars every month to the private trust account in Delaware!” Vincent shouted.
The street went completely still, the leaves rustling in the gutters as the absurd statement hung between us.
Advertisement
“What trust account in Delaware, Vincent?” I asked, my voice flat and dangerous as the wind whipped my coat.
