The Wrong Murder

Julian remained silent.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t get the milk, but I was busy with the foundation yesterday,” I continued. “Besides, you know I like cream in my coffee, not milk.”

“Whatever you say. It’s not like you ever had to work a day in your life. You’re nothing but a trust fund brat.” He shoved the last piece of toast into his mouth.

A vein came to surface on my head, almost popping. “In case you’ve forgotten, the foundation does real work. I can’t even begin to count the number of battered women we’ve helped. And as for the second thing, you don’t seem to mind the benefits of my wealth.”

“Can you blame me? No offense, but you have no idea what it’s like to be a realtor.”

I sniggered. “You know what I think? I think you’re jealous you weren’t born into a wealthy family and you expect everyone else to have a hard life just because you did.”

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