out the window at the gray skyline under the overcast sky. “Being poor does not excuse cruelty, Mrs. Whitmore. You used your wealth as a weapon against ordinary people.”
The words were spoken without anger, which made them cut deeper into Darla’s conscience than any scream. She remembered the dismissive way she had waved her hand at the young flight attendant earlier that morning.
She remembered the look of cold triumph she had felt when she thought she had humiliated Evan publicly. She had acted out of raw malice, believing her status granted her total immunity from basic decency.
The sedan took the downtown exit, navigating through the downtown maze of concrete and glass. Minutes later, the vehicle pulled into the private underground parking bay of the Whitmore Logistics building.
The Whitmore name was carved into the granite wall in massive bronze letters, bold and seemingly permanent. But beneath the
