“David!” her mother’s voice shrieked through the speakers, high-pitched and vibrating with panic. “The credit cards aren’t working! We’re sitting at dinner at a Michelin-star restaurant and they just cut us off! The concierge said the master account is frozen! Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?”
I leaned back in the driver’s seat, taking a slow sip of my coffee. Through the windshield, I watched a worker in a high-vis vest step into what used to be our master bedroom. He raised a can of neon orange spray paint and sprayed a massive, dripping ‘X’ across the drywall.
“Gosh, Cynthia,” I said, my tone dripping with feigned sympathy. “That sounds like a real ‘vibe’ killer. Have you tried asking Miranda to pay? She seems to have plenty of my money lying around.”
“David, you fix this right now or I swear to—”
I tapped the screen, cutting the line dead. I blocked her number, Leo’s number, and finally, Miranda’s.
