Chapter 1
The pawnbroker weighed the gold bracelet on the scale and studied it for a long moment.
"Forty‑two thousand. I can't go any higher."
It was the bracelet my mother had put on my wrist before she passed.
Twelve years ago, when Robert Martinez and I ran a street stall, my fingers cracked from the winter cold, yet I still couldn't bear to sell it.
I held onto the bracelet and asked, "Can you add another five thousand? My daughter is waiting for surgery."
The owner glanced at the hospital bill in my hand, turned around, and took out five thousand in cash.
"Call it a loan. The child is what matters."
I maxed out my credit card, finally scraping together eighty thousand.
Back at the hospital, the red light above the operating room was still on.
The nurse had me sign a consent form. My hand shook so badly I couldn't hold the pen steady.
Grace had been born with congenital heart disease.
The doctor had long said that the corrective surgery had to be completed before she turned seven.
But every time I managed to save enough money, Robert always found a new excuse to take it.
Two years ago, when he opened the twelfth shop, he said he needed it for three months' working capital.
Last year, when renovating the central kitchen, he said it would be half a year at most.
Last month, when Grace fainted from chest tightness, he instead used the surgery money to pay the rent on Isabella Jones's new shop.
I once asked him when he would pay the money back.
He said impatiently, "We're all family. Why keep score? It's not like Grace's illness is going to kill her tomorrow."
The livestream on my phone was still playing.
The host handed the microphone to Isabella and said, "Ms. Jones, Mr. Martinez has entrusted all eighteen shops to your management. He must really trust you."
Isabella smiled and leaned into Robert's arms.
"Robert was afraid I would feel insecure, so he insisted on putting the shops in my name. Actually, we're family. There's no need to fuss over these things."
Her son, Richard Jones, raised a gold pendant and shook it at the camera.
Charlotte Miller explained with a smile, "This is the heirloom passed down in our Martinez family to the eldest grandson. Richard has called Robert 'Dad' for five years now; he's no different from a biological child."
I closed the livestream and flipped through the contracts sent by the bank.
3.06 million, in seven separate transactions.
The earliest had been three years ago; the most recent was just two weeks ago.
Every loan was supposedly for store operations, but the receiving account belonged to Isabella.
During those two weeks, Grace had been hospitalized with a high fever.
Robert brought over a thick stack of documents, saying they were medical insurance and store license renewal materials, and urged me to sign.
I believed him.
The surgery lasted four hours.
When the doctor came out and told me the surgery was successful, my legs went weak, and I had to lean against the wall to keep from falling.
Through the ICU glass, I saw the gauze wrapped around Grace's chest, and tears finally spilled over.
The nurse advised me to go home and get toiletries.
Instead, I took a taxi to the new shop.
Grand opening ribbons still hung at the entrance, and Robert was toasting in a private room.
The lemon-sole Grace loved sitting on the table. Richard picked at it a couple of times with his fork, complained it was sour, and they immediately whisked the whole dish away.
I placed the loan records in front of Robert. "Explain," I said.
The whole table fell silent for a moment, then burst into raucous laughter.
Robert's buddy, John Thompson, banged on the table and said, "Emily, you sure are sticking your nose everywhere. Robert borrows money for business, and he has to report to you?"
I replied, "I'm the borrower, yet the shops belong to Isabella."
Robert set down his wine glass and said in a flat tone, "Isabella knows how to run a business better than you. Putting them in her name makes management easier. Once the shops start making money, the loan will get paid back."
I said, "Grace is undergoing heart surgery right now."
He replied, "Didn't you already pay the fee?" He said so casually, as if the child lying on the operating table wasn't his own daughter.
I untied the faded apron from my waist, folded it neatly, and placed it on the table.
"Starting at midnight tonight, Lopez & Martinez will stop supplying Martinez's," I said.
Robert finally looked up at me. "Emily Lopez, you dare?" he asked.
I picked up the loan records, turned, and walked toward the door.
"You'll soon find out whether I dare or not," I said over my shoulder.
