I looked past him toward the black SUV idling in the driveway. Two large suitcases sat on the stone path. Ashley’s mouth hung slightly open, her freshly dyed blonde hair lifting in the mountain wind. Brandon’s father, Richard, had removed his golf cap and was staring through the glass walls at the empty foyer.
“No,” I replied. “You brought an audience. I prepared a performance.”
Brandon’s jaw flexed.
Then he snatched the envelope off the wall and tore it open.
The papers slid into his hand.
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