Chapter 3

When I opened the door to my townhouse at noon the next day, a brand new pair of women's heels sat in the foyer.

Vanessa sat on the living room rug in one of Grant's oversized dress shirts, playing with the cat. Grant emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of sliced fruit.

He looked startled to see me, then frowned.

"Why are you home at this hour?"

I glanced at Vanessa. "This is my house. Do I need permission to come home?"

She scrambled to her feet and tugged at the hem of the shirt.

"Please do not misunderstand. A pipe burst in my kitchen, and the whole place flooded. I could not stay there. Grant felt sorry for me, so he said I could use a room here for a few days."

I looked at him. "You invited her to stay?"

He set the fruit on the coffee table, utterly unapologetic.

"She is a woman living alone. Of course something like that frightened her. We have plenty of empty rooms. What is the problem with letting her stay for a few days? Stop being so petty."

I nodded. "Fine."

I picked up a pen and a sheet of paper from the coffee table, wrote out a single line, and pushed it toward him.

"Guest room in an Upper East Side townhouse: fifteen thousand dollars a day. Emotional distress surcharge: thirty thousand a day. One week in advance comes to three hundred fifteen thousand dollars."

His face went black.

"Three hundred grand for a few nights? You might as well rob me at gunpoint."

I held his gaze.

"This house belongs to me. My name is on the deed. If you cannot afford it, tell her to leave."

Tears spilled down Vanessa's cheeks at once.

"I will go. I will leave right now. I do not want to damage your marriage."

She made a show of walking toward the door. Grant caught her by the arm.

"You are not going anywhere."

He swung toward me, breathing hard.

"Fine. I will pay. I might as well be throwing it to a dog."

He wired three hundred fifteen thousand dollars.

I checked the deposit and slipped my phone away.

"Payment received. The living room and kitchen cost extra. Touch my belongings and you replace them at full value."

I returned to the primary bedroom and locked the door.

That afternoon, I checked the statement on the card Grant had given me. The night before, he had spent one hundred seventy five thousand dollars on a limited edition Van Cleef and Arpels necklace at a boutique on Madison Avenue.

I laughed bitterly.

He did not blink at buying Vanessa a necklace. Yet paying my brother's hospital bills was somehow pouring money into a bottomless pit.

The hospital called that evening.

"Ms. Morgan, Dr. Mercer's schedule has changed. He had agreed to take your brother's case, but he withdrew today."

My stomach tightened. "Why?"

The doctor sighed.

"Someone offered him triple his fee to consult on a woman's sprained ankle."

A sprained ankle?

Someone had hired a world renowned neurosurgeon for a sprained ankle?

The blood roared in my ears. I ended the call and rushed out of the bedroom.

The living room was empty. I opened the guest room door.

Vanessa sat on the bed while Grant held an ice pack to her ankle. The necklace worth one hundred seventy five thousand dollars gleamed around her throat.

"Is Dr. Mercer really coming to look at my foot?" she asked. "Is that not a waste of his talent?"

Grant's voice was tender.

"Whatever it costs, it is worth it if you recover faster. Mercer was supposed to operate on Evan, but I offered him seven hundred fifty thousand dollars. He changed his schedule."

I stood in the doorway, my blood turning to ice.

Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars.

Evan's chance to live.

Grant had stolen it so a neurosurgeon could examine Vanessa's twisted ankle.