She Wants His Money, I Own the Company

"Honey, can you grab me a pad? The overnight ones." Samuel Pearson handed me a brand I'd never used before and said casually, "This brand's really good. You should try it. You never seem to have cramps when you're on your period, do you?" A bell went off in my head. I had never used that brand. And he had never once paid attention to whether I had period pain. This bastard is up to something. He's definitely cheating on me, and that other woman of his gets cramps. Outrageous, but I kept my face smooth. "I used to get cramps too. I got it sorted out by Dr. Chapman from Chapman's Clinic—the old doctor who was on the news before." He just hummed in response and said nothing else. What he didn't know was that Dr. Chapman and my grandfather were blood brothers who had saved each other's lives. Less than three days later, Dr. Chapman sent me a photo. Sure enough, Samuel had brought a girl to see him for treatment. The girl wore a mask, but her eyes—I would never forget them even if I died! It was those same eyes that had smiled at my brother, Larry Jackman, over our family dinner table three years ago, and they sparkled as she called out to me. She wore a faded floral dress, but she held her spine straight and proud—a bright, sharp-edged pride that grew straight out of poverty. I once thought it was just the tenacity of someone going through hardship, but I later learned it was the perfect handy disguise for greed. Just then, Dr. Chapman sent me another message: Samuel says this girl is a poor student he sponsors. A sponsored poor student? I stared at those words and almost laughed out loud. Samuel? Sponsoring a poor girl? Have you forgotten who put you through school and built you up? Have you forgotten that the suit on your back, the watch on your wrist, the car you drive, the house you live in bears the mark of my family? I looked up toward the living room wall. In the black-and-white memorial photo, Larry was forever frozen at twenty-two, his smile bright and pure. The year he died, wreaths piled up like a mountain. Mom fainted from crying three times, Dad's hair turned white overnight, but Nora Schmidt never came. It wasn't until the seventh day after his burial that I finally got through to her on the phone. The background noise was as loud as a nightclub, her voice lazy and thick with alcohol. "Hey, Sully. What's up?" I held back my rage. "Why didn't you come to Larry's funeral?" "Oh, that," she paused, completely unbothered. "I was out of town, I couldn't make it back." Stop lying, Nora! His last text message was sent to you. I dug my nails into my palm. "He told you not to leave him, and what did you text back?" Silence stretched on for a long time at the other end of the line. Then she said, "I forgot." The call cut off, and later that number became out of service. She had vanished like a drop of dirty water, evaporated from the broken fragments of my family's memory. But now, this drop of dirty water was back. Silently, it had seeped into my marriage. "Sully, dinner's ready." Mom set the utensils and bowls on the table, glancing at Samuel's empty seat. "Is he working overtime again?" "It's the company's 10th anniversary; he's busy." I had to lie for him. "Samuel's a capable man, building the company up to this scale." Mom's eyes were full of approval. She had no idea that man had long been rotten to the core. Mom, do you still have the share contract Samuel signed back then? Mom froze for a moment. "I'll look for it... It's been ten years, hasn't it?" Ten years... We go way back, actually. The first time he came to my house, his school uniform was faded from repeated washings, his fingers shook as he took the tuition fee my mom handed him. "I will definitely study hard and repay you, Ma'am." Ten years ago, he couldn't find a job after graduation and sat slumped listlessly in our living room all night. At dawn he said, "Sully, I want to start a business, but I don't have any money." My mom gave him her life savings. Samuel's eyes turned red, and he wrote up a contract granting her 30% of the company's shares right then and there. Mom tried to decline, but he insisted, "Ma'am, if you don't take it, I won't dare accept this money." How touching, and how ironic. After leaving Mom's place, I turned into a computer repair shop. The shop owner, Kevin Johnston, was my brother's best friend back when he was alive. Kevin was the one who recovered the corrupted data from Larry's phone back then. His main business is computer repair, but he does private detective work on the side. After I told him why I was coming, Kevin was not surprised at all. He pulled up a medical record on his computer. Name: Nora Schmidt Diagnosis: Accidental miscarriage Date: One month before Larry's death Operation Authorized By: Samuel Pearson Upon reading these, I felt my breath catch in my throat. So three years ago, Nora had already been pregnant with Samuel's child. So, throughout that period when Larry was given the cold shoulder, broken up with, and finally got into a car accident from being distracted, his girlfriend was lying in the arms of his brother-in-law, dealing with the pregnancy. After I recovered the data, I've always wanted to do something about this. I'm sorry, Sully. I should've told you sooner. I clenched the medical report tightly, the edge of the paper cutting into my palm. Samuel... Nora... I will make you both pay for what you've done.