42FeliciaI crash through the door and run through the room toward Dad. People turn and regard with me confused expressions, but I ignore them. One man, one of those politicians who would look more at home on an oil rig than at a party, steps into my path, thumbs tucked into his belt and smiling benevolently.
“Miss Farrow!” he booms, his grin growing wider by the moment. “Miss Farrow!” he repeats, as though I didn’t hear him the first time. “I have to say, it is an honor to be standing here with you. We’ve all heard the story.” He leans in and I smell whisky on his breath. Strange, because we’re only serving champagne, water, and wine. “Lots of these nasty folk thought your father had something to do with it! Imagine! It was a scandal, I tell you, an absolute scandal! I know Gregory Farrow
