Chapter 3

The next morning, I was sitting in the VIP lounge of the brokerage firm, listening to the manager explain the liquidation process of my stocks.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed with Snapchat notifications.

Chloe had spammed three voice notes in a different extended family group chat.

The first was Tommy crying hysterically.

The second was Chloe screaming, "It's the middle of the day, Tommy wet his pants, and the preschool is forcing me to pick him up! My perfect attendance bonus is gone!"

Finally, Leo complained, "Mom, have you had enough? Dad is taking Vivian shopping for Italian leather furniture today. Get home right now and wash Tommy's pants!"

The vultures in the family immediately popped up.

Arthur’s older sister, Clara, posted a sneering emoji:

[Helen, this is your fault. How old are you, playing the runaway wife? You spend all day in the kitchen anyway. Arthur has to socialize. ]

[If you actually had something interesting to talk about, he wouldn't have to seek company elsewhere!]

Arthur’s brother, George, agreed:

[Exactly. Arthur has a great monthly pension. Buying a condo is his right. You don't have an income, yet you have such a big temper. ]

[Go home and help Chloe with the kid. Don't be ungrateful.]

Looking at these hypocritical freeloaders, I let out a cold laugh.

When Clara started her business years ago, she borrowed money from me and never paid it back.

When George’s son bought a car, Arthur forced me to pinch pennies from the bakery’s earnings to give him $3,000.

They really were a family of bloodsuckers.

They lived off me for decades, but when things got tough, they all sided with Arthur because of his pension.

Then, Vivian, using her account with a lotus flower profile picture, posted a long paragraph.

[Please don't blame Helen, everyone. It's all my fault. My heart condition flares up under stress, and Arthur was just so worried about me that he insisted on buying the condo.]

[ If Helen is really that angry, I can give up the condo and live under a bridge. It's fine.]

Arthur immediately gave her a thumbs-up in the chat:

[Look at Vivian’s class! Helen, you’re so old, yet you’re jealous of a sick woman.]

[I give you one hour to get your butt back to the house. Mop the floors and buy groceries, or you won't get a single cent of allowance ever again!]

I slammed my coffee cup onto the table.

I opened my gallery and sent the photo of the purchase deed I’d found in Arthur’s drawer directly into the chat.

Right after, I posted a photo of the 30-year-old factory layoff record.

[Arthur, the contract clearly says you paid a $200,000 down payment, and the mortgage will be paid off using your monthly pension.]

[Want me to remind everyone how you got that pension? ]

[Should I publish the records of how you faked an illness and forced me to give up my union job to take the layoff in the local newspaper for all your old coworkers to see?]

The moment the messages sent, the bustling family chat went dead silent.