Of course, it hurt to see them ruined, but I knew better than to confront these crazed people head-on.
Luckily, I had surveillance cameras set up all over the house. Every person, every item they destroyed – it was all being recorded.
One man, a middle-aged neighbor, crouched down, carefully sifting through the broken shards. After a moment, he hesitated and pushed up his glasses.
“Uh, Beatrice… these antiques… they’re real. I think they might be worth millions.”
I let out a cold laugh.
“You’ve got a good eye, but you’re not quite right. The pieces you’ve smashed? They’re worth over sixty million.”
Beatrice froze, then burst out laughing.
“Sixty million? Why don’t you just say sixty billion? These are just a pile of junk. I’d say six hundred bucks, tops. You always look so cheap when you come to our house – how could you possibly afford antiques worth millions?”
I sighed. Harper had explained to me before we got engaged that his mother had a lot of pride, and he didn’t want her to feel inferior. So every time I visited her, I dressed down, even driving a borrowed economy car, just to avoid making her feel uncomfortable.