“Ma’am, step away,” the officer warned.
Tiffany didn’t even try to help him. She was already hailing another rideshare, frantically trying to order a car on her own phone, only to realize her company phone had been remotely locked by my IT department ten minutes ago. She was stranded on a dark Malibu road, wearing a ruined wedding dress, with no money, no job, and no ride home.
The new owner of the bungalow watched the entire scene with quiet satisfaction. He folded the documents, placed them back in the envelope, and looked down at Robert as the police guided him into the back of the squad car.
“Oh, and Mr. Miller?” the new owner added right before the door closed. “Your personal items have been packed into two trash bags and left at the local storage facility. You have twenty-four hours to pay the rental fee before they are auctioned off.”
