She swallowed.
“I didn’t know.”
“No.”
The word was gentle.
That made it worse.
“You didn’t know anything about me,” he continued. “You knew I had one dollar.”
She looked at the counter where the bill had been.
Samuel opened his palm.
He still held it.
Mateo glanced toward the back office.
“Where is Derek?”
“On his way,” the receptionist said.
Her voice had gone thin.
Apparently she had texted the owner the moment Samuel walked in.
Ten minutes later, Derek Vale entered through the glass doors wearing a charcoal overcoat and an expression already arranged for control.
Then he saw Samuel standing beside Mateo.
He stopped.
“Uncle.”
Samuel’s shoulders tightened.
Derek looked at the envelope.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Samuel gave a tired smile.
“That sentence has done a lot of work for you.”
Derek turned to the staff.
“My uncle is confused. He has been ill. Please give us privacy.”
Mateo did not move.
Neither did the other stylists.
Derek’s jaw hardened.
“Mateo.”
“I read the court order.”
