Chapter 3

After the press conference, the locks on the South District house were changed.

By the time I got there, workers were already hauling my mother's furniture out.

The wooden table she'd used for twenty years was being loaded onto a truck. A chip of lacquer broke off the corner.

I rushed forward.

"Who told you to touch this?"

The project manager handed me a work order.

"Boss signed off. Full clearance today."

"The house isn't his."

Inside the courtyard gate, Sophia stood amid a floor of broken bricks, draped in my mother's gray cardigan.

"Emma, there's so much dust in here — I just grabbed an old thing to cover up. You don't mind, do you?"

I held out my hand.

"Take it off."

She ducked behind a bodyguard.

"You just apologized to me on national television, and now you want to get physical again?"

I turned to the project manager.

"This property belongs to Grace Miller. No one has the right to renovate it without the owner's consent."

The project manager hesitated.

"But Miss Reed said Mrs. Miller agreed."

Sophia produced an authorization form stamped with my mother's personal seal, a faint smile on her face.

"Sorry — your mom signed off on this last month."

I took the document.

The authorization date was yesterday.

At that time, my mother was lying in the morgue.

I asked: "Where did you get the seal?"

Sophia said: "The vault. Adrian gave me access."

I pulled out my phone and called the police.

Sophia's expression shifted. She immediately dialed Adrian and put it on speaker.

On the other end, Adrian's voice was heavy.

"Emma, put the phone down."

"She forged the authorization."

"I told her to use the seal. The South District project can't wait for your mother to recover."

"Your mother couldn't use her right hand, so Sophia stamped it on her behalf. The process is perfectly valid."

I stared at Sophia.

"Who told you my mother couldn't use her right hand?"

Sophia's eyes flickered.

"The nurses' station."

"Then you should know exactly what my mother's condition is right now."

Her eyes reddened instantly.

"Adrian, Emma's interrogating me again."

"Enough."

Adrian's voice turned colder.

"Sophia's gallery opens in three days. It can't be delayed because of you."

"The house isn't yours."

"But you're my wife. Anything under your name, I have the right to manage."

I asked: "What about my mother?"

"I'll visit her when things settle down."

"When?"

Sophia cut in: "The day after tomorrow. Adrian promised to take me on vacation abroad."

Before, I would have lost my mind demanding to know — was she always going to matter more than me?

But now, I just put my phone away.

"Fine. See you then."

Adrian assumed I'd caved. His tone softened.

"Good. When I'm back, I'll take you to see your mom first."

The call ended.

Sophia took off the cardigan and tossed it casually onto the wooden table.

"See? That's all it took."

She walked closer and brushed the dust off my shoulder.

"You know, that night — it's not that your call didn't get through."

I looked up at her.

She smiled.

"The moment I said I was feeling down, he just hung up on you. He said you were always using things like that to compete for his attention."

My fingers slowly curled tight.

Sophia stepped back half a pace and glanced at the bodyguard.

"Want to hit me? Go ahead. One finger on me, and Adrian will hand this house over to me for good."

I didn't move.

I just bent down and picked up the cardigan, brushing off the dust.

She frowned.

"Why aren't you losing it?"

"Because there's no point."

"What?"

"No point losing it over someone who doesn't matter."

I held the cardigan and walked toward the mouth of the alley.

Behind me came a sudden crash.

The wooden table my mother had used for twenty years fell from the truck and split in two.

The project manager scrambled to explain. Sophia barely glanced at it.

"If it's broken, toss it."

Wind blew through the narrow alley. The cardigan in my arms still held a faint trace of soap.

This time, I didn't turn back to smash a car. I didn't rush over to fight for anything.

I photographed the broken table and the forged authorization, and sent everything to my lawyer.