Calling for Help

Yves zoomed in on the bill. "What kind of repair costs that much?" He carefully counted the zeroes.

Johnny refused to believe it too. He insisted the sender had to be a scammer, not Wendy.

That car Yves crashed into was a Koenigsegg, and the chassis was fully handmade. There was only one of its kind in the entire country. Because it was so rare, most people would not even recognize it.

Aphrodite had partnered up with Koenigsegg before, so I knew that car was 50 million. For a car like that, eight million in repair costs was not impossible. On top of that, transporting it back to Soland would not be cheap either.

While they were struggling to grasp whether the bill was real, Wendy texted them again. 'Pay up as soon as you can.'

That left no grounds for negotiation.

Panic seeped into Yves, and all color drained from his face. "She should've asked me on a date, not money for repairs! Where do I even get eight million?"

He looked to Fiona for help.

Finally, Fiona remembered that I existed. She comforted Yves, claiming that my car was insured, and the insurance company would pay for the damages.

"Commercial insurance only covers up to three million. You're still 5.5 million short." I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and headed toward my room. After taking one step, I paused and tapped my forehead as if I had just remembered something.

"Oh, right. I didn't manage to buy that in time. There's only compulsory insurance, and that covers two hundred grand at most. Besides, Yves doesn't even have a driving license. The insurance company won't pay."

My room was tiny. There was nothing to take except for the toys my father had made for me.

I was about to leave the room, but Johnny put his arm across the entrance and gave me a look that said he wanted to tear me apart.

"You're not leaving! That's your car. Even if the cops are involved, you're still paying!"

I knew he would say that, so I pulled the vehicle registration out of my bag. Yves was named as the owner. This was Fiona's doing.

For once, she had accompanied me on a semi-important errand. I had gone to the DMV to register my car, but while I was in the restroom, Fiona switched my ID with Yves'. Just like that, the car became his.

Ever since we were children, Yves always had to be the first to get anything good in the family. Fiona would never tolerate me having a car while Yves did not.

The realization made Johnny snap. He turned on Fiona and struck her. "You moron! You ruined Yves! She's the Hewitts' heiress! We can't weasel our way out!"

Fiona curled up, not daring to fight back. She stammered that she had no idea things would turn out this way.

Yves grabbed his head and screamed, "Stop it! I'm calling Garfield! He knows what to do!"

Garfield. He was the homeroom teacher of the heirmaking course.

I had once seen him bringing a group of charming, well-dressed men into a luxurious club. Everyone said he had deep connections.

Thanks to him, more than a few of his students had supposedly married famous celebrities or wealthy business owners.

Yves waited for the answer like it was his last hope at survival.

A moment later, a rough, impatient voice sounded from the phone. "I'd love to help you, but you haven't paid up, Yves. Give me the 300 grand, and I'll tell you what to do. She'll be at your beck and call."

Yves promised profusely that he would pay up. While he was nodding to Garfield, I shoved Johnny away and left. These people were beyond saving.

…

Two weeks later, I met Wendy again in the reception room.

Under the bright lights, her scar was nearly invisible. To my surprise, Wendy had come with Yves.

He was wearing an expensive suit with dark brown leather shoes. At a glance, he actually looked like a proper office worker.

This must be Garfield's idea. I just wondered how Yves had managed to scrape together that three hundred grand.