Amy's father and his beautiful bookkeeper had stripped the family's accounts bare and fled the country, taking the brokerage assets with them, more th...n ten million. In one day the woman and her daughter had fallen out of the upper class and were barely clinging to the middle. There would be no more private schools, no more designer clothes, and no more recreational drugs.Amy's mother, at my suggestion, would probably become a thousand-a-night "escort" in D.C. and Baltimore; she had no other. The woman knew. She knew.When class broke, Ilsa gathered her things and made a beeline for the door."Miss Petersson," Marsha Crow's voice called as she passed the teacher's desk.Ilsa dodged a couple of exiting classmates and stepped to the desk. The woman wasn't looking at her, but instead held out an envelope. "For you," was all she said.Ilsa took the envelope and, out of habit, said "Thank you, Ma'am."Shaking, Ilsa headed for the rest room, found an empty stall, and locked it behind her. She. More

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