Chapter 3

"Can't your mother just sell that old house of hers?"

It was Logan's mother calling early the next morning. Her tone sounded like a ruthless debt collector.

"Evelyn, selling a house takes months. We don't have until Friday—"

"Then tell the broker to slash the price! What matters more—your own daughter's life, or your mother's rotting piece of property?"

I stayed silent.

"Fine, it's like talking to a brick wall. Where's Logan? He said he wouldn't make it to the hospital today because of an emergency at work. You better sort this out yourself."

She slammed the phone down. Barely had I lowered the phone when it vibrated again.

An incoming call from Chase Private Banking.

"Hello, Mrs. Miller. Regarding the second mortgage application on the property under Mr. Logan Miller’s name, we require the co-owner’s verified signature to finalize the disbursement."

My fingers tightened around the receiver until they turned white.

"What second mortgage?"

"The home equity loan Mr. Logan Miller submitted on September 12th for $1.2 million. Since you are listed as a joint titleholder, federal lending regulations require your explicit in-person authorization—"

"I never signed anything."

"Our system shows an electronic authorization and a physical signature on file. If you contest this, we strongly recommend visiting the downtown branch with your identification immediately."

September 12th. The day before Mia was rushed to the emergency room with a sudden, raging fever. I had stayed up all night by her side, while Logan claimed an urgent server crash at the office pulled him away for two hours.

That afternoon, I asked the head nurse to keep an eye on Mia, hailed an Uber, and headed straight to the bank.

The loan officer pulled up the file—a thick stack of paperwork. The signature under my name was a clumsy forgery, nowhere near my actual handwriting.

"Which account was the loan disbursed to?"

"A private checking account under the name Vivian Reed."

One point two million dollars. Our family home. Wired clean into his secretary's personal bank account.

Stepping out of the bank, the sunlight felt bitterly cold. I folded the certified copies and tucked them into my bag.

When I returned to the hospital room, Logan's mother was back. She sat by the bed peeling an orange, discarding sticky peels all over the clean floor.

"Logan called. Said he wrapped up his business and he'll be here tonight."

"Okay."

"By the way, I asked around. Plenty of kids get this procedure done for under a hundred grand. Did you bother asking the doctors for a cheaper treatment plan?"

"Evelyn, Mia's condition has specific complications—"

"You just swallow everything these doctors tell you! Hospitals these days push the most expensive treatments just to pad their bonuses."

She shoved a wedge of orange into her mouth, sweet juice dribbling down her chin.

"Besides, if you had noticed her symptoms earlier, would it have gotten this bad? You're far too careless as a mother."

"Evelyn, this is a congenital defect."

"Congenital? Is that running in your family? Nobody on our side has ever had weak genes like that."

My fingernails dug into the meat of my palms.

As she stood up to leave, she tossed one last sneer over her shoulder: "Get your head on straight. Stop wasting your energy on wild suspicions and focus on what actually matters."

Logan arrived that evening carrying takeout—a beef noodle box and chicken fried rice.

"Brought dinner for you. Eat up, you're looking so thin."

"Logan, the bank called me today."

His fork halted in mid-air.

"They approved a $1.2 million second mortgage on our house. The entire amount was wired directly into Vivian Reed's personal account."

Logan's chewing slowed to a halt. He set the plastic fork down and glanced at Mia’s bed, making sure she was sound asleep.

"That money is strictly for corporate restructuring. Vivian helped bridge an escrow account for an urgent contract. Routing it through a personal account bypassed the clearance hold faster."

"Funneling $1.2 million into your secretary's private account is 'faster'?"

"You don't understand corporate finance. Corporate compliance takes weeks, and sometimes operating through an authorized intermediary is the only way to save a deal."

He looked at me, his eyes brimming with counterfeit sincerity.

"Honey, if it makes you nervous, I'll have Vivian wire every single cent back the moment the project closes."

"And my signature? The signature on that loan application was forged."

Three seconds of dead silence hung between us.

"I had my office assistant sign it for you. You were overwhelmed at the hospital with Mia, and I didn't want to burden you with tedious paperwork..."

"Forging a spouse's signature to take out a seven-figure home equity loan is bank fraud, Logan. It's a felony."

His face twisted instantly. He shot up from his chair, the legs screeching violently against the linoleum.

"What are you trying to say? Are you threatening to sue me? Mia is lying right there fighting for her life, and you can't give me five minutes of peace?!"

"Give *you* peace?"

"I am killing myself out there for this family! You snoop through my credit card bills, you spy on my business loans, and what's next? Are you going to tap my phone?!"

Mia shifted under the sheets.

I glanced at her, biting my tongue.

Logan noticed too. He took a deep, theatrical breath, sank back into his chair, and rubbed his temples.

"I'm sorry. The pressure has been suffocating lately. Honey, you have to trust me. The moment the funding lands, everything will go back to normal."

He reached out and took my hand in his.

"Let's not fight anymore, okay?"

His palm was warm. Just like it was seven years ago.

I didn't pull my hand away. But with my other hand, shielded behind my coat, I tapped the record button on my phone.

"Okay."