Chapter 2

Mr. Lawson, the attorney, placed the heavy brass key onto my marble dining table.

Next to it lay a sleek bank card.

"Before Mr. Vance passed," Mr. Lawson said quietly, "he made it very clear that every single dollar of this fifty million has gone through a rigorous, legal audit."

"It’s completely untangled from any high-risk shadow lending or unlicensed mining profits."

"He wanted me to tell you... this money is clean."

I picked up the card.

It felt ice-cold in my hand.

Even in death, Garrett remembered my neuroses.

I had always complained that his cash smelled like coal dust. I hated the physical bills, swearing they were covered in his spit from counting them.

So, he had washed this fifty million dollars spotlessly clean, just for me.

I slid the card into my designer bag and looked up at the lawyer.

"Is there anything else?"

Mr. Lawson blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the fact that there wasn't a single tear on my face.

"No, ma'am. The remaining real estate and mining rights are caught up in complex legal disputes."

"Mr. Vance’s instructions were that if dealing with those messy assets became too much of a headache for you, you should just walk away. Just take this fifty million in cash and run."

I nodded.

"Understood. Please show yourself out."

Suddenly, the front door of the mansion was kicked open from the outside.

The heavy, custom-made copper door slammed against the wall with a deafening crash.

A crowd of people barged into my foyer.

Garrett’s relatives.

Leading the pack was his Uncle Silas, wearing a cheap suit splattered with dried mud.

His boots were clearly a size too big, leaving dark, wet streaks across my pristine Persian rug.

Behind him were seven or eight men and women from his hometown.

Silas pointed a thick, dirty finger right at my nose.

"Hand over the money, Chloe! Now that Garrett is dead, the Vance family fortune isn’t staying in the hands of some outsider bitch like you!"

A woman next to him spat right onto my hardwood floor.

"Cold-hearted gold-digger! If Garrett hadn’t paid off your father's debts, you’d be selling your body on the streets by now!"

"Now that he's gone, you think you can just pack up and run with his cash? No way in hell!"

I sat on the velvet sofa, unmoving.

My eyes drifted to the wet puddle on my cream-colored wool rug.

It was sickening.

When Garrett was alive, as rough and uncultured as he was, he never dared to spit inside the house.

He knew I was a germaphobe. Every time he had to cough, he would run out to the backyard.

Now that he was dead, these people were ruining my home.

Seeing my silence, Silas assumed I was terrified. He marched toward me, reaching out to grab the designer bag on the table.

"I'll take that!"

I picked up my steaming cup of black coffee and threw it directly at him.

The scalding liquid splashed over the back of Silas's hand.

He shrieked, clutching his hand as he stumbled backward.

"You crazy bitch! You burned me! Trash the place! Smash everything! Find where she hid the rest of the money!"

The group raised their crowbars and iron pipes, ready to tear the living room apart.

I calmly pulled out my phone and dialed a number on speakerphone.

The dispatcher's voice echoed through the room: "911, what is your emergency?"

I spoke clearly into the receiver:

"I am at 101 Aspen Heights Drive. There is an active home invasion. A mob has forced entry into my residence with weapons and is attempting an armed robbery. I am the homeowner, Chloe Vance. I have active security cameras recording everything."

The room fell dead silent.

Silas's eyes widened in shock.

"Robbery? I'm his uncle! Taking my own nephew's money isn't robbery!"

I hung up, pulled a stack of documents from my bag, and tossed them onto the table.

"Garrett’s will is legally registered with the state probate court. I am his sole primary beneficiary. None of you have any blood relation to me under civil law."

"Forcing your way into a private residence with dangerous weapons to seize property is a Class A felony."

"Under state law, armed home invasion carries a minimum of ten years in federal prison."

I stood up, smoothing the creases of my silk dress.

"As for the coffee, you attempted to assault me. It was self-defense."

I looked at the head of my estate security, who had just rushed in.

"Block the exits. No one leaves until the police arrive."

My security team immediately moved into position, blocking the shattered doorway.

The relatives, who had been shouting so boldly just moments ago, instantly panicked.

Silas, clutching his red, blistering hand, hissed at me, "Chloe! You are heartless! Garrett’s body isn’t even cold yet, and this is how you treat his family?"

I stared at him with cold, dead eyes.

"Is his body not cold, or are you just eager to pick his bones? When Garrett was alive, you leeched off his blood."

"Now that he's dead, you want to tear his corpse apart and sell it."

The police arrived minutes later.

As Silas and his crew were led out in handcuffs, they were still screaming curses at me.

Finally, the house was quiet.

I pointed to the stain on the rug and looked at my housekeeper.

"Throw it out. And sanitize every single spot they stepped on. Three times."

The housekeeper nodded, trembling as she began to clean.

I sat back down on the empty sofa, staring at the vast, silent mansion.

Garrett was dead.

The man who snored like a chainsaw, smelled of cheap tobacco, and chewed with his mouth open was gone.

No more rough, sandpaper-like hands trying to touch my face.

No more soot-covered heavy jackets hanging next to my expensive designer coats.

Even the faint scent of his cheap cigarettes had dissipated.

I traced the cold edge of the black card in my bag.

"Garrett," I thought, "you died a messy, dirty death. But you sure kept your money clean."

"I suppose that's the most dignified thing you’ve ever done."