“The bank just sent proof,” Vivienne announced, holding up her phone. “Mr. Harry’s account is empty. He’s been paying a mortgage for thirty years, and the house is already mortgaged to someone else.”
The room fell silent—then erupted again.
“Dad, that’s even worse!” my son barked. “Who have you been paying the mortgage for? Who did you mortgage the house to?”
“What are you hiding from us?” my daughter snapped.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“How could you not know?” My wife’s voice cracked as she turned on Vivienne. “On the surface, you’re just the poor student he sponsors. In reality, you’re his mistress. Don’t think I don’t know.”
The words sliced through me. For decades, I had kept my vows—never raising my voice, caring for her through everything, cooking, cleaning, holding her through sickness. And this… this was what I got in return.
“Vivienne!” My son-in-law’s face twisted with rage. “You scheming slut! Give back our family’s property, or I’ll destroy you!”
My daughter glared at me. “Dad, you abandoned your family for a mistress, didn’t you? You’re just going to watch your grandson die?”
My son kicked the chair aside, his voice cracking with fury. “How could you do this? Is this how you treat your own family?”
The livestream erupted. The office around us buzzed with venom.
“Ungrateful old man! Using the house your kids bought to keep a mistress? Disgusting!”
“Lustful old geezer, greedy little tramp—perfect match!”
“An old man who abandons his wife and kids deserves to be hit by a car. Makes me sick!”
The insults blurred together until my head spun.
“Do you have a shred of evidence that Mr. Harry and I had an affair?” Vivienne’s cheeks burned red.
“Hmph! You keep showing up at our house—that’s proof enough! No shame at all!” My daughter lunged forward. “I’ll beat you to death!”
My son raised his hand to strike her.
“Stop!” I shouted, stumbling to my feet, limping to block him—only to be shoved hard to the floor.
My head cracked against the table’s corner, pain shooting through my skull, numbing my limbs.
My daughter and son-in-law didn’t even glance down. They stepped over me, seized Vivienne by the hair, and pummeled her.
“Stop… stop it…” My voice was hoarse. I tried to push myself up, but my body wouldn’t obey.
Through the haze, I saw my wife sobbing—yet smiling faintly.
“Mr. Harry!”
“Vivy!”
Jonas burst through the door, shoving my son aside. His voice was icy. “I’ve uncovered everything. The mortgage Mr. Harry has been paying for thirty years—it’s for the retirement home you bought!”
