I Married His Uncle

Chapter 3

Three days earlier, a breaking financial alert flashed across my phone while I was putting the finishing touches on an antique porcelain vase.

"Aureon Capital, a Foster Group subsidiary, has entered bankruptcy liquidation following a cash flow crisis."

Aureon Capital belonged to Henry. When I rushed home, he was sitting on the floor surrounded by scattered documents. His shirt was hopelessly rumpled, and deep shadows ringed his eyes.

"Cora." He looked up at me, his eyes rimmed red. "The company's finished. I still owe $300 million. The house is going up as collateral, and they're repossessing the car this afternoon. I have nothing left."

I dropped to my knees and held him close. "You still have me."

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his whole body shaking. I thought he was falling apart. Only later did I realize he had been afraid of being found out.

That afternoon, the moving company emptied our home.

For the first time in his life, Henry, the rich heir who had never wanted anything, took the subway. For the first time, he ate a $12 boxed meal. For the first time, he slept on a mattress on the floor of the tiny eighty-square foot room behind my studio. I watched him awkwardly figure out how to use the induction stove, and my heart melted and broke all at once.

The next morning, the debt collectors came knocking. They kicked down the studio door without a second thought. Red paint covered half the wall, shelves were sent crashing to the ground, and the precious materials I had spent five years gathering scattered everywhere.

The antique porcelain vase I was nearly done repairing slipped off the worktable and broke into countless fragments.

The man leading the group pinned my restoration knife beneath his shoe. "Henry owes us. You're his fiancée, so now you owe us too. Three days. $8 million. Or we'll drop by your mom's hospital room and have a little chat with the old lady."

That afternoon, the hospital called. My mother was in the middle of chemotherapy when a group of strangers stormed into her room. They scared her so badly her heart went into an irregular rhythm, and the doctors spent thirty minutes getting her stable again.

When I got there, she was still shaking. The first thing she said was, "Cora, did something happen to Henry? You two are okay, right? Promise me you won't fight."

I smiled and told her it was all a misunderstanding. Then I stepped out of her room and stood alone in the hallway for what felt like forever.

A bright red payment reminder kept scrolling across the electronic display on the wall.

I checked my mother's balance, then mine. Put together, they still weren't even close to $8 million. I stayed beside her bed all night, holding the hand with the IV, and never slept.

Even then, I couldn't bring myself to blame Henry. I told myself he was caught up in this too. I told myself, It's only $8 million. We'll figure it out.

Late that night, Henry cooked a pot of soup in the tiny room behind the studio. He burned it.

He stood there holding the bowl, looking helpless, like a little boy waiting to be scolded. "Cora, I used to think money could fix anything. Now I know that when you have nothing, you can't even take care of the person you love."

I took the bowl and drank every last spoonful. "Says who? My mom stopped seeing you as some rich kid the day you waited in line for two hours to buy her cupcakes."

He knelt in front of me and suddenly asked, "Cora, what if, just what if, this whole thing wasn't real? Would you hate me?"

I laughed. "I'd be thrilled if it were fake. Why would I be angry?"

He stared at me for a long time without speaking. Long enough that I thought he might cry. Looking back now, that was probably the moment he almost confessed.

Early the next morning, I called a broker. I was going to sell my studio, the last thing my father had left me. He had painted the sign himself. Reed Restoration Studio had hung there for eleven years.

The broker told me Prospera Culture had been searching for studios like mine. They offered a fair price. $16 million. Their only condition was an unusual one. Everything had to stay exactly as it was, and nothing could be moved for three months.

On Wednesday afternoon, I signed the contract. As my pen touched the page, I reached up and ran my fingers across the sign.

'Dad, I'm sorry. Once Henry's debt is paid, I'll bring our studio back.'

As soon as I signed, my phone vibrated.

It was a message from Felix.

Felix: Henry drank too much at the club. His stomach's bleeding again. Can you come get him?

I grabbed my bag and bolted out the door. All I could think about was getting to him.

I ran all the way to the third floor and stopped outside a private room with the door cracked open.

That was when I heard about the bet and found out they had toasted my three days of misery with an $8,000 bottle of wine.