“How long is your story?” Kurt asked.
Missy shrugged, “It depends on how much detail you want.”
“Take your time, Miss Sammer, for God’s sake, take your time,” Marcus implored. The others assented.
When Robbie was expelled, I knew Father was to be my lifelong enemy, that is, unless I bowed down to him, which I categorically refused to do.
Poppop died on Christmas Day 1961, and as promised he bequeathed to me five million dollars which would become all mine on my eighteenth birthday. That arrived on February 14, 1962, the day I moved out of our Long Island home and headed for California in my brand new luxury Jag. I remember Mom holding me so tight and gushing like a baby—and looking so pale, from something more than just emotion, I worried. Darla and Ellie hugged me warmly but shed no t
