Rich Dad, Poor Dad? More Like Goodbye, Dad

The appointment of Susan Moore as the Broadcasting Channel's executive director has forced out the station's more valued news anchor, sparking heated discussions throughout Hayworth.

Susan herself is standing before me right now. She wants to sell her jewelry.

As the manager of a luxury boutique store, I'm here to inspect the goods.

"These are pieces my partner commissioned for me. I have so many that I'm tired of them."

One of them is a diamond-encrusted necklace, featuring a pigeon-blood ruby in the center, worth a few million.

There are also several similar gifts on the table, with the crocodile skin bag the least eye-catching one.

I smiled. "Your husband must really love you."

I set about verifying the purchaser's ID and signature as part of a routine procedure. However, I freeze in place at the sight of the name.

"I'm not his wife," she replied, bringing the coffee cup to her lips. "We're just each other's first loves. He said he missed out on 15 years of my life, so he gave me 15 gifts. Isn't that romantic?"

It is romantic, indeed.

However, it's my father's signature.

For 30-plus years, I assumed that my father was a dull man who had never once surprised my mother.

Susan Moore glanced up with an ambiguous smile when she noticed my stunned expression. "Women need to be raised in luxury. Otherwise, they'd find such opulence astonishing despite being surrounded by luxury goods all the time."

I, Lauren Smith, didn't respond to her veiled sarcasm. Instead, I smiled faintly at her. "I can offer you eight million dollars for the gemstone, Ms. Moore. However, you've just been appointed executive director. Why sell this?"

"I'm selling this to buy my partner a birthday present. The other day, he gave me another pigeon-blood ruby. Do you have any similarly priced watches?" she asked.

A flicker of hope still lingered in my heart. What if this was just a coincidence? What if the handwriting was just similar?

I then asked, "Would it be possible to see a picture of him? I can then recommend something suitable."

Yet, my heart sank as soon as I saw the image.

My father, Jason Smith, was happily embracing Susan, his gaze full of joy. It was a stark difference from his stern persona at home.

"Ms. Smith, you've been staring at him for a bit too long."

Susan put her phone away, looking displeased.

The gleaming ruby was an eyesore.

My parents were married for 30 years, and our family lived on Lark Avenue. It was a one-bedroom apartment where the living room served as my bedroom. The three of us barely had the space to move around in this tiny, 215-square-foot apartment at the same time.

Yet, the same man could afford to buy Susan so much expensive jewelry while my mother only had a plain, misshapen ring.

"I was simply marveling at his devotion. He's been faithful to you for so long," I said.

Susan laughed dismissively. "I knew he started a family after I left, but I don't care. Love and responsibility are two different things. While I was abroad, I joked that he was not macho and only rich. Can you guess what stupid thing he did?"

I didn't have to guess.

A simple joke made by Susan resulted in him pretending to be poor for 30 years, never once helping the family. And because of her coquettish pleading, he immediately reverted to his true self and gave her the best of everything.

Her current luxury apartment and job in broadcasting were both given to her by my father.

…

After agreeing on a watch style with her, I returned home in a daze.

I opened the door to see my mother, Anna Herzog, hunched over and bumping into things all over the tiny space. Purple bruises dotted her arms and waist.

We were poor, and Dad only made 2000 dollars a month. It wasn't nearly enough to support us all. As such, Mom went to work as a helper for a rich family.

Mom was beautiful and was often subjected to harassment by her employer. She came home crying and left for work in tears. Dad never stood up for her, only saying, "Life isn't always what you want it to be."

Thus, she learnt how to keep her head down, resulting in her current demeanor.

Yet, Susan's back was perfectly straight, her head held high. That was because Dad was the source of her strength.

At the secondhand luxury store, I dealt with wealthy clients and naturally had connections. A quick check revealed everything. Dad wasn't just rich; he was powerful, too. He was the Broadcasting Corporation's elusive boss.

Yet, when I fell ill at the age of five, I watched helplessly as my mother cast aside her dignity and fell to her knees before her employer, begging for an advance on her wages. Since there wasn't enough money, the surgery wasn't very successful.

Now, if I even walked a bit faster, my heart would hurt like hell.

Seeing me enter, Mom smiled. "Honey, I've found a new employer recently. She's offering a high salary. We'll be able to buy a new house soon!"

Yet, what she didn't know was that Dad had bought someone a house, and it was a large penthouse in the city center.

I looked at her, my throat constricting as I said, "Mom, I've got something important to tell you."