The Million-Dollar Porridge

At five years old, I was finally recognized and brought back to my wealthy family in America. Right after my parents transferred one million dollars into my account for living expenses, they packed their bags and flew abroad for a business trip. They left me and the fake heiress, Wendy, staring at each other in a massive mansion in suburban Westoria. Three months later, my parents returned early, wanting to surprise us. But the moment they stepped into the backyard, they saw Wendy, who was usually so delicate, covered in dirt and chewing on a charred piece of corn. My mother's heart wrenched, and her eyes welled up with tears instantly. She turned to look toward the house, her voice trembling, "Where is Daisy? Did she use her status as our biological daughter to bully Wendy? Forcing someone to eat wild weeds and wear tattered clothes... Are you trying to torture her to death?!" In the next second, I popped out from behind the bushes, carrying a small bamboo basket on my back. Lying inside the basket was half a load of empty soda cans and three withered wild weeds. I wiped the soot off my face with the back of my hand, revealing two rows of bright white teeth, and smiled innocently and brilliantly. "Mom, did you call me?" My parents fell dead silent. Because they realized... while the fake heiress looked like a savage, the real heiress looked even more like a savage. So, here comes the question: where did all the money go? ***** My name is Daisy. Before I was five, I lived in a small town in the Devout Belt of Deltana. I knew how to chop wood, feed chickens, and unravel old sweaters to knit coasters. Every Sunday morning, my grandmother would drag me to church, and we always bowed our heads in prayer before meals. Just after my fifth birthday, my biological parents found me. I was taken from that drafty little shack in town and brought into a mansion larger than the town library. That was when I met Wendy. She was the daughter the Browns had raised for five years, the one everyone called the fake heiress. The first time I saw her, she was wearing a white dress, looking at me with red, puffy eyes. I thought she would hate me. After all, that was how it always went on TV. When the real heiress returned, the fake heiress was supposed to throw tantrums, cry hysterically, and scream about why her home was being stolen. But Wendy just clutched her stuffed rabbit and asked in a small voice, "Now that you're back, do I have to leave?" I froze. I looked at her, and then at the mansion. This house had over a dozen doors on just the first floor, and the hallway was so long that running a single lap would leave me completely out of breath. So, I answered very honestly, "I don't think so. This place is huge. You could fit ten cows in here and still have room." Wendy stared at me, speechless. Then, she started crying even harder. Panicking, I quickly added, "You're not a cow! You're much prettier than a cow!" Her crying paused for a second, and then she wailed even louder. Later, Mom held both of us close, her eyes red as she said, "Wendy isn't going anywhere, and neither is Daisy. From now on, you are both daughters of the Brown family, both children under God's care." Dad nodded in agreement. Suddenly, I felt that high society wasn't so terrifying after all. But the very next day, Mom and Dad received an urgent phone call. Something critical had come up at their overseas company, and they had to leave immediately. Before leaving, Mom handed a card to my older brother. My brother, Jason Brown, was 19 and a student at Westoria University. He looked sharp enough, but he had terrible posture, slouching on the sofa playing video games with his feet propped up on the throw pillows. Mom said, "There is one million dollars in here. It's for your sisters' living expenses over the next three months. Food, clothes, kindergarten, extracurriculars, and medical bills—everything comes out of this. You're in charge of managing it." When I heard the words 'one million,' my mind went completely blank. One million dollars. How many bags of flour would that buy? Before I could wrap my head around it, Jason slipped the card into his pocket and patted his chest confidently. "Got it. Whatever they need, I'll buy it for them." Dad frowned at him. "Jason, don't fool around." Jason immediately sat up straight. "Dad, how old do you think I am? Besides, would I really rip off my own sisters?" That sounded reasonable. After all, he was an adult, and how could an adult lie to children? That evening, after our parents left, Jason called Wendy and me into the dining room. He pulled out a black ledger and slammed it onto the table. The cover read: "Child Growth Fund Spending Record." I only recognized the words "Child" and "Record." Wendy knew more words than I did, and when she saw "offshore," her face turned slightly pale. Jason cleared his throat and began his lecture. "Mom and Dad are in the Veyra Islands right now, so this money is tied up in an offshore trust account. It's not the kind of pocket money you can just spend directly." I nodded solemnly. I didn't understand, but it sounded very fancy. Jason continued, "From now on, if you want to buy anything, you must submit a request to me. "I will buy it for you, convert it using the trust's special exchange rate, and deduct it from your growth fund balance." I raised my hand. "Jason, what is an exchange rate?" Jason glanced at me. "It's the math used between foreign money and domestic money. You wouldn't understand anyway, but don't worry, I'll handle the math." I asked again, "Then how much money do we have?" Jason flipped to the first page and wrote down a massive number: 1,000,000. "A limit of one million." Wendy asked in a small voice: "Is that enough?" Jason's pen paused, and he gave her a meaningful look. "If you're careful, yes." Wendy's fingers immediately tightened around the hem of her dress. She knew she wasn't the biological daughter of the Browns, so she didn't dare say too much. I felt a bit uneasy. But I had just returned, and I didn't know the rules of the Brown family, nor did I know if I should speak up. Jason closed the ledger. "Remember, any spending has to be approved by me. Don't go buying things behind my back. The most important thing for kids in wealthy families is developing a high financial quotient." I looked at him with admiration. Wealthy families were indeed complicated. Even spending money required lessons.