Chapter 2

When I pushed the front door open, Mom was kneeling on the kitchen floor, scrubbing the tiles.

The murky water in her bucket was cold and sudsy, and her fingers were raw and swollen red.

Her sleeves still smelled of the herbal balm she applied for her arthritis this morning.

"Mom," I said, my voice hoarse. "Stop scrubbing. Did Dad call someone to fix the fridge?"

She looked up, forcing a weak smile. "Your dad said we need to hold on a little longer. He'll buy a new one once business picks up."

I stared at her cracked nails, my chest tightening painfully.

Last year, when Dad's joint pain acted up, she peeled pounds of raw walnuts with her bare hands to make his remedies, ripping half of her thumbnail off in the process.

Dad had merely sneered, "Women are always so dramatic."

And Mom had actually blamed herself, wondering if she was being too fragile.

"How did the condo viewing go?"

Mom pressed a hand against her aching lower back and stood up. "Your dad was coughing half the night. I need to get that cash together as soon as possible..."

I cut her off, holding out my phone.

"Look at this first."

She took it with a puzzled frown, her thumb sliding across the screen.

Vanessa’s Instagram posts unrolled before her eyes, one after another:

Dad grinning by the Porsche in [Test drive surprise];

Dad wearing an apron cooking lobster in [Late night gourmet];

And the most stinging one, posted just an hour ago:

[Someone said the bracelet was too simple for my new dress, so he got me the matching necklace 💎]

The photo showed a Van Cleef & Arpels display counter, with an associate boxing up a diamond necklace.

"I looked up the price," I said, my voice dead cold. "The cheapest one in that collection runs for over eleven thousand dollars."

"What... what is this?" Mom's hands began to tremble violently.

"That's the client who wants to buy your condo today. And guess who’s footing the bill? Dad."

I watched her face crumble as the words sank in.

"Dad cries poverty to us every single day, while he showers another woman with luxury."

"He told you he was meeting clients yesterday? He was actually buying her diamond jewelry!"

She stumbled backward, clinging to the counter to keep from collapsing onto the floor.

"No... that’s impossible..."

Her lips quivered. "Your dad said cash flow was frozen..."

I pulled up the bank transfer records I'd tracked down through his business account access.

"Frozen?"

I pointed to the transfers to Vanessa Vance.

"Over one hundred and twenty thousand dollars transferred to her in the last three months alone. Labeled under 'wellness investments'!"

She suddenly bolted into the bedroom and came back clutching an old tin lockbox.

Inside were stacks of faded, yellowing receipts: Dad’s physical therapy bills, premium vitamin orders, wellness retreats.

On every single receipt, Mom had written in her neat handwriting: *Richard’s health is our top priority.*

Looking at them now, every word felt like a slap in the face.

At the very bottom lay a copy of Grandma Rose's will: *This property is bequeathed to Eleanor, to serve as her lifelong sanctuary.*

Mom looked from the receipts to the will, tears spilling down her cheeks in torrents.

"How... how could he do this to me?"

"He took my youth, my money, my entire life... and now he wants to strip away the last shred of dignity my mother left me?!"

"Your grandma made me promise before she passed..."

She choked back a sob, stroking the paper. "She said this condo was my roots..."

I picked up a recent receipt.

Just last week, Dad took out eight hundred dollars under the excuse of "buying supplements." That exact same day, Vanessa posted a brand-new Louis Vuitton handbag.

"Mom, open your eyes."

I held the phone right next to the receipt. "His 'supplements' are hanging on another woman’s shoulder!"

She snatched the phone, frantically scrolling through the feed.

Every single boastful photo struck her like a whip.

Dad cooking gourmet dinners in an apron, Dad picking out diamond rings, Dad wrapping his arms around her by sports cars...

"When I had surgery last year..."

She stared at Dad’s doting smile on screen. "He said the hospital had terrible reception and he had to work... He was playing personal chef for a home-wrecker!"

Her tears splashed onto the screen, and then, shockingly, she let out a bitter laugh.

"No wonder he complained the remedies I brewed were bitter..."

She hurled the stack of receipts against the wall, scattering paper everywhere. "He took the blood money I earned with my bare hands to spoil a bimbo!"

Amid the falling paper, her slumped shoulders slowly straightened.

"Chase."

She wiped away her tears, her voice hardening like steel.

"Next week at the contract signing... I’m going with you."