Chapter 1

On our wedding day, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. He asked my bride for seven thousand dollars to start treatment.

That was all it took for Vivian Lawson to decide I was a gold digger.

From then on, every dollar I spent—even on groceries—had to be approved by her male executive assistant, Nathan Price.

I explained again and again that cancer medication was expensive. My father wasn't trying to profit from our marriage. He was trying to live.

"If you want money," Vivian always said, "get Nathan to sign off on it."

Nathan never approved anything.

Then Dad's condition deteriorated. The hospital needed seventy thousand dollars for an emergency procedure and follow-up care.

I stopped submitting requests nobody would read. I took Vivian's black card and paid the hospital myself.

That evening she arrived at Dad's room with two police officers, accusing me of stealing from her.

Before I could explain, there was a commotion outside. A nurse rushed in, her face white.

"Mr. Mercer, your father said he couldn't bear being a burden to you anymore. I'm so sorry. he died."

Vivian gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Tell your father to quit the act. Pay me back and maybe I won't pursue the maximum penalty. A couple of weeks in custody should teach you."

I stared at the empty bed. All the strength went out of me.

"A couple of weeks?" I heard myself ask. "No, Vivian. Press charges. Give me fifteen years if you want."

Fifteen days later, Vivian arranged my release pending trial. Nathan stood beside her with an arm around her waist, looking as if he owned both her and the room.

"Don't threaten me with prison, Daniel," she said. "Your hearing is in three days. Here's the evidence."

The folder was thick. Nathan had rejected every ordinary household expense, so purchases I'd made using the card—from a carton of milk to our electric bill—had all been listed as unauthorized transactions.

I didn't have the energy to fight. "All right."

A female officer who had looked after me shook her head. "Mrs. Lawson, you're married. He used the money for his father's medical treatment. Are you really going to ruin his life over this?"

"His family tried to squeeze seven thousand dollars out of her at the wedding," Nathan cut in. "That was just the beginning."

"A family of scammers doesn't deserve sympathy," Vivian said, grabbing my wrist and marching me outside.

She touched her slightly rounded stomach. "The divorce papers are waiting at home. My baby doesn't need a father with a criminal record. Keep this up and I won't keep the pregnancy, either."

I reached for the front passenger door. Nathan shoved past me and slid into the seat.

"Sorry, Daniel. That's my spot."

Vivian smiled at my expression. "You can sit in the back. Beg nicely and I might even postpone the divorce."

"I'm not fighting over a seat," I whispered. "Just give me enough for a cab."

"Did Nathan approve a cab?" she snapped, pushing me into the back.

The car smelled nothing like the cedar air freshener I'd chosen five years earlier. The air-conditioning blasted icy air. Nathan sneezed; Vivian wrapped him in a cashmere coat and turned his seat heater up. When she noticed me shivering in the T-shirt I'd worn into custody two weeks before, she looked away.

Her phone rang. The hospital was calling again.

"Mrs. Lawson, we've tried for fifteen days to reach you about Mr. Mercer's remains. We need authorization for final arrangements today."

"Do whatever is cheapest," Vivian said. "Scatter the ashes. Don't bill me."

She hung up before I could shout. Fifteen missed calls. Dozens of messages. All ignored.

"Stop the car!" I cried. "I need to bring my father home!"