On Christmas morning, my millionaire son asked if Amanda’s $5,000 monthly support had finally made me comfortable.

said.

Daniel looked at the man behind her. “Who is he?”

“My attorney.”

Daniel stepped aside. “Good. Mine is on video.”

Amanda entered as if she still controlled the room. Her eyes swept over the technician’s tools, the grocery bags, the pharmacy delivery, and the fresh invoice on the table.

“You’re making this theatrical,” she said.

“No,” Daniel replied.continue reading …