A voice sounds over the sobbing. Bluetooth, coming from the Rover’s speakers. Mollie’s on the phone. “Get out of that hellhole and come home,” a woman says. “That money belongs to you, sweet girl, and I’ll make sure you get it, come hell or high water.” “I don’t understand,” Mollie replies. “Why make me work for it this way?” “Your dad…he was always so damn difficult.” “That’s an understatement.” I climb into the truck and start the engine. I hold the steering wheel in a death grip, my knuckles white. I’m already sweating, my shirt sticking to my back. Mollie’s not upset because she lost a
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