Grace
“You’re going to Mr. Grayson’s house?” the driver asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.
I didn’t feel like talking. At this point, my mind was not thinking straight. But I wasn’t the type to ignore people, especially someone who looked twice my age. So I gave a small nod. “I am.”
The driver smiled, nodding with a kind of pride, like he personally knew the man.
“You must know him personally. Mr. Grayson is such a kind man. He and his family seem perfect. He’s done a lot for our community. I’d really love to meet him someday.”
I turned to the window, letting my gaze drift past the glass.
What a convenient word to use instead of manipulative.
He had no idea.
They believed in the family man, the justice-seeking version of him. But that was just the mask
