The sudden departure of Jeremy Lee and David Turner left a vacuum in the air, one filled with a ringing silence that felt heavier than the morning fog. From the moment the two titans had entered the memorial gardens to the second they disappeared back into their armored motorcade, they hadn't cast so much as a sidelong glance toward the actual the Hobbs family.
Instead, their entire focus—their respect, their time, and even a rare, high-end cigarette—had been directed toward Allen Morgan, the man the rest of the world considered a parasitic live-in son-in-law.
This staggering disparity in treatment was a bitter pill to swallow for the self-proclaimed elite gathered on the lawn. Peter Hobbs stood frozen, his hands still clutching the incense sticks as if they were life preservers, while h
