Just as their skepticism hit a fever pitch, my eldest brother, Lester Evans, stepped into the frame, holding a villa property transfer agreement. The name on it? From the wealthiest district in the city.
The chaos suddenly evaporated into silence.
A hushed murmur rippled through the viewers. [Wait… isn’t that Lester Evans? The CEO of Lunar Lights Entertainment? No way... this can’t be fake. All of this… it’s real!]
***
When I was nine, the village council labeled my family as destitute. The sting of shame was nothing compared to my father’s pride, though he flatly refused any aid, even when he fell gravely ill.
To make matters worse, my three brothers weren’t exactly pillars of support.
Lester, my eldest brother, slogged away as a lowly office worker in a dingy factory, earning a paltry 3,000 dollars a month while being barked at like a servant.
Sandro, my second brother, was a doctor, but his modest 2,500-dollar salary barely kept him afloat. Most of his bills? They ended up on our family’s tab.
Dallas, the youngest of the trio, worked as a chauffeur for some big-shot businessman. His paychecks were as unreliable as spring rain and I often had to bail him out with my tiny savings.