“Vivienne, don’t call me sister,” my daughter snapped, shoving her away. “You’re just a poor scholarship student! Stop hanging around my dad.”
She turned to me, glaring. “Dad, why are you running all over the place instead of taking care of Mom in the hospital?”
She had always believed Vivienne was after my money, never knowing that Vivienne had never asked for a single cent—only brought gifts to our home every month, even asking my opinion before dating her boyfriend.
My son-in-law grabbed my arm. “Your grandson’s been in a car accident. He needs to go abroad for treatment—at least three million. Let’s mortgage the house.”
“Let go.” I pulled free. “The house was mortgaged behind my back. I’m here to ask Vivienne to investigate.”
“What?” My daughter’s voice rose. “Dad, you’re heartless! You’d rather let your grandson die than help?”
My son-in-law piled on, his voice cracking. “He’s twelve! How can you just watch him suffer? And that house—you owe us a share.”
They shouted loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the office.