My daughter had just given birth when my son-in-law—whom I had once personally sponsored—suddenly demanded 30 million to cover expenses for a maternity center.
I was stunned. Hadn’t I already invested in that very maternity center? I’d paid in full and reserved the entire top floor months in advance to ensure my daughter could recover in peace and comfort.
But instead of gratitude, he snapped at me impatiently.
“You only care about Marla! Vivien gave birth to my child too, and I need to take care of her properly!”
Vivien. Another underprivileged student my family had sponsored.
I stood there, frozen, as he went on:
“Vivien is gentle and kind—not like that sharp-tongued shrew, Marla. I’m standing up for Vivien. Besides the maternity center fee, you also need to transfer another 80 million as compensation and alimony.”
Then he added, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, “I’ll continue living with Marla, but you can’t stop me from seeing Vivien and the baby. After all, Marla gave birth to a daughter—a financial burden. But Vivien gave me a son. He’ll inherit the company someday.”
That was the moment I understood.
Two ungrateful brats I once saved from poverty were now scheming to take everything from me. They cheated, lied, and now dared to claim my legacy?
Over my dead body.
“Greta,” I said, my voice sharp with fury, “get the private jet ready. We’re going home.”
——
My phone didn’t stop buzzing the entire flight. Every message was from Derrick Alcott.
“Your family’s been a money pit for three generations. Vivien gave birth to a son—she saved your bloodline. She’s your family’s savior!”
“I’m not even asking you and Marla to kneel and thank her. Just transfer the money. Why are you stalling?”
“Better start sucking up now. If I’m in a good mood, maybe my son will take care of you when you’re old!”
My hands trembled with rage.
Derrick and Vivien—both of them were children I had pulled out of the mountains with my own two hands. I gave them everything.
When they struggled after college, I arranged jobs for them in my own company. When Marla Camden fell in love with Derrick, I didn’t ask for a dowry—I gave one instead. I even promised Vivien that when she married, she’d get the same treatment.
I genuinely thought I had done right by them. But now I realized I’d raised two snakes in my garden.
Without a word, I turned off my phone and instructed coldly, “Freeze all of Derrick and Vivien’s credit cards.”
They wanted to leech off me without a shred of gratitude? Fine. Let’s see how they survive without my help.
Moments later, the phone lit up again with a fresh wave of rage from Derrick.
“You crazy old hag! Did you cut off our cards?”
“You’ve got five minutes to turn them back on and transfer another 30 million—or you’ll regret it!”
A chill crawled up my spine.
I wasn’t afraid of him. But my daughter—my Marla—was still in his hands. She had just given birth. She was vulnerable. What if he—
Before I could finish the thought, a new message popped up on my screen:
“Dear Ms. Camden, your one-month reservation for the luxury top floor of the maternity center has been canceled early. Thank you for your trust…”
My heart dropped.
I had invested in that maternity center. I had paid for the entire floor. How could they just cancel?
Panicked, I called the center—only to hear his voice on the other end.
Derrick.
He sounded smug.
“Vivien deserves proper care after giving birth to my son. If you won’t pay, then I’ll kick Marla out and let Vivien move in.”
Then he chuckled.
“But don’t worry—I’m not heartless. I moved your daughter and granddaughter into the basement. At least they won’t be out on the street.”
