“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said.
“Don’t play games with me.” Brandon’s voice rose. “There are people at my house.”
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عندما يتحول السجن إلى مسرح للصدمات غير المتوقعة
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I glanced toward the window. Downtown Houston shimmered beneath a pale winter sun, all glass and steel and ambition.
“Your house?” I asked.
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عندما يتحول السجن إلى مسرح للصدمات غير المتوقعة
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The silence that followed was so satisfying, it almost made me ashamed.
Almost.
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عندما يتحول السجن إلى مسرح للصدمات غير المتوقعة
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Amber’s voice cut in from somewhere behind him. “Put it on speaker.”
A second later, Brandon came back louder. “Dad. Tell these people to leave.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can and you will.”
“No,” I said. “I can’t. They represent the new owner.”
A chair scraped violently on his end. “The new what?”
“The new owner.”
“You sold my house?”
“I sold my property.”
“Your property?” he shouted. “You gave that house to me.”
“I let you live there.”
