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on it.”
He began to cry then, not softly, not with dignity. The guilt had finally found his throat.
“I thought I was protecting you,” he said.
“No,” I said. “You were protecting your inheritance.”
He looked at me, stricken.
“Drive me home.”
“We need to talk.”
“We already have.”
When he pulled into my driveway, he reached for my hand. I moved it before he could continue reading …
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