“David, hey man. I’m so sorry about Henry. I meant to be at the service, but—”
“That offer you made for the lot last year,” I interrupted, my voice as steady and cold as a surgeon’s blade. “Is it still on the table for cash? And can you bring a demolition crew by Monday?”
Marcus paused, the rustle of blueprints stopping in the background. “David, that’s your family home. It’s a custom build. Where is Miranda?”
I looked down at my left hand. The gold band felt heavy, like a shackle. I rolled down the window, pulled the ring off my finger, and let it drop. It hit the wet asphalt and rolled directly into the iron grate of the storm drain with a satisfying, metallic plink.
“She’s in Bali,” I replied, staring at the dark grate. “And she doesn’t live here anymore.”
