Chapter 3

Marcus blew out a smoke ring, his eyes full of calculation.

I kept my head down, my voice hoarse: "I don't have any money on me. Liam left so suddenly, all the cards were on him."

"Bullshit!" Nancy stopped her wailing and sprang up from the floor with the agility of someone far younger than sixty.

"You've been managing the household all these years, how could you not have savings? Let me tell you, Evelyn, Liam's death benefits, insurance compensation—that's all for my retirement! And this house, Liam bought it, what does it have to do with you?"

I looked at this mother and son, sneering inwardly.

"Nancy," I slowly raised my head, my eyes eerily calm, "this house was bought after marriage, and my name is on the deed. According to the law, I'm the first heir."

"Bah!" Nancy spat a glob of phlegm near my feet. "What law? In the Walker family, I AM the law!

The surrounding relatives started chiming in:

"That's right, Evelyn, you have to have a conscience. Liam worked himself to death for this family."

"If you have any shame left, give the house to Marcus. Marcus isn't married yet, he needs a house."

"I bet she just wants to take the money and find another man! Women like this are heartless!"

Listen to these high and mighty justifications.

In the past, for the sake of so-called family harmony, for Liam's reputation, I might have swallowed my anger.

I might have even taken out money to prove my innocence.

But now, looking at these greedy faces, I only found it laughable.

They want money? Want the house?

Fine.

If they knew that Liam left behind not just a house, but a huge surprise, I wonder if they'd still be so eager.

I took a deep breath, about to speak, when suddenly there was a commotion at the entrance.

The previously noisy funeral suddenly fell silent, with only the sound of rain still pattering outside.

"Who's that? Driving such a nice car?"

"That car must cost several hundred thousand, right?"

I followed everyone's gaze.

Through the rain, a black Maybach slowly pulled up to the funeral home entrance.

The car door opened, and a black umbrella unfurled.

First to emerge was a foot in red-soled high heels, a slender ankle visible beneath a black hem.

Then, a woman stepped out.

She wore a perfectly tailored haute couture black mourning dress, oversized sunglasses, skin blindingly white, lips like scarlet flames. She wasn't carrying any offerings, but held the hand of a young boy.

The boy was about four or five years old, wearing a little black suit, chubby-cheeked, holding a Transformer toy.

The woman closed her umbrella, removed her sunglasses, revealing a refined but slightly haggard face.

She surveyed the funeral, her gaze finally landing on me.

In that moment, I recognized her. Susan.

The woman who took the nineteen million dollars.

My heart raced, not with fear, but with unprecedented excitement.

The show was finally beginning.

Nancy froze. Marcus's eyes went wide.

Susan walked to the portrait, ignoring everyone else, and elegantly bowed three times. Then, she gently nudged the little boy beside her.

"Go present flowers to Daddy."