On the morning of the third day, when Zoey came in with my food, I made myself look weak on purpose, leaning against the headboard and speaking faintly. "Mom, I've thought it over."

"I'll marry him. And I'll give you the PIN."

"But you have to let me take a shower and change into something clean. I can't go meet him looking filthy, can I?"

Zoey's face lit up the moment she heard it. "See, if you'd just done this from the start, none of this would've happened!"

"Fine. I'll get you some clothes. You wash up, and I'll stand guard at the door."

Sure enough, she let her guard down. She opened the bedroom door, handed me a change of clothes, and actually took up her post right outside the bathroom.

I went in and locked the door behind me.

The window was an old-style slider. There was a security grille over it, but the lowest bar had gone loose from years of neglect. I'd noticed it working itself free back when I was cleaning.

I gritted my teeth and threw all my strength into wrenching that bar. The skin on my palms broke into blisters, but in the end I pried it loose.

I climbed out through the window and slid down the drainpipe running along the outer wall.

I twisted my ankle on the landing. The pain sent cold sweat pouring off me, but I didn't dare stop. I got up and ran.

Behind me came Zoey's shrill scream. "Carina's run off! After her, quick!"

I didn't look back. I ran for my life.

Before he died, Wallace had told me that if I ever ran into trouble, I should go to the Righteous Sky Law Firm on Southgate Avenue and find Lawyer Chavez.

By the time I limped to the law firm, it was already noon.

Lawyer Chavez was a man in his fifties, in gold wire-rimmed glasses, with a refined air about him.

When he saw the state I was in, he quickly had his assistant pour me some warm water, then found a first-aid kit and cleaned the cuts on my hands and knees.

He took out a thick document envelope, pushed it across to me, and said quietly, "This has your grandfather's will inside, along with some other things."

"He told me that if you ever came to me, I was to hand all of it over to you."

I drew a deep breath and opened the envelope.

The will was on top, stamped by the notary office.

【All holdings under the name of Wallace Lawrence—eight hundred thousand in savings, one downtown storefront, and one residence in the old part of slated for demolition, with compensation estimated at two million—are to be inherited solely by my granddaughter Carina Pruitt, to the exclusion of any other person.】

Behind it was a thick stack of bank transfer records. Starting twenty-two years ago, on the fifteenth of every month, a sum of fifteen thousand had gone from my grandfather's account into Zoey's.

There were extra gifts for holidays and festivals, and tuition, medical bills, and school uniform fees were all reimbursed separately, entry by entry, every one of them clear. Even the cost of my textbooks in elementary school was on record.

I did a rough tally. Over twenty-two years, it came to more than three million.

I looked at Lawyer Chavez, my voice shaking. "This is..."

He let out a sigh. "This is the child support your grandfather paid for you."

"Carina, your mother, Maggie Lawrence, was Mr. Lawrence's eldest daughter."

"Twenty-two years ago, she got pregnant out of wedlock. When she gave birth to you, she hemorrhaged during a difficult labor, and they couldn't save her."

"Mr. Lawrence was afraid you'd suffer being raised by an old man on his own, so he entrusted you to his second daughter, Zoey—the woman you now call your mother."

"He and Zoey agreed on fifteen thousand a month for your support, to cover your food, clothing, housing, and schooling, with any large expenses reimbursed on top of that."

It was like being struck by lightning. My mind went blank.

So it was true. I wasn't Zoey and Stuart's child at all.

Zoey was my aunt. Stuart was my uncle by marriage.

They hadn't raised me out of kindness. They'd done it because every month they were collecting my grandfather's money.

For twenty-two years, they'd taken the support he gave and fed me leftovers, made me do the chores, and spent it all on Morris and Cicely.

They kept going on about how much money they'd spent raising me, but the truth was they hadn't paid a cent. They'd made a fortune off raising me instead.

"What about my real father?" I asked, my voice rough.

Lawyer Chavez shook his head. "Old Mr. Lawrence searched for years. He never found him."

"All he knew was that the man's surname was Gilbert. Back then he'd come here for the building-materials business, then went back down South, and after that they lost contact."

I looked at that thick stack of transfer records, and the tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over.

Not from grief. From how absurd it all was.

Laughing at myself for being such a fool.

Twenty-two years. Twenty-two years I'd lived inside the belief that my parents just didn't love me, and turned it into hating myself.

I'd tried so hard to be good, worked myself ragged, earned every dollar I could, all to buy one word of approval from them.

But it turned out I was never their child at all.

They'd taken my grandfather's money, raised their own kids on it, and told themselves they had every right to treat me as a free maid and a walking bank account.

I wiped my eyes and said through my teeth, "Lawyer Chavez, I want you to take my case."

From today on, I would no longer be the soft target anyone could squeeze.

Everything they owed me, I'd take back, piece by piece, all of it.

When I walked back into the Pruitt house with Lawyer Chavez, Zoey and the others were sitting in the living room in the middle of a fight.

Zoey slapped her thigh and wailed, "This is all your fault! You just had to lock her up, and now she's gone and the money's gone with her!"

Stuart smoked his cigarette, his face twisted with irritation. "What are you crying for? The monk can run, but the temple can't. She'll be back."

"When she comes back, see if I don't break her legs."

Off to one side Morris hurled the remote down and snapped, "What about my apartment? What about my down payment?"

"Carina, that little bitch, actually had the nerve to run!"

Cicely, meanwhile, wore a worried look. "Do you think she went to find Tom?"

"If she goes crying to Tom, he's going to think badly of me for sure—"

Cicely didn't get to finish. I stepped back inside.

They saw me and froze for a second, then their faces lit up with pure glee.

Zoey rushed at me first, hand already reaching for my hair, spitting curses. "You've got some nerve, coming back!"

"Where did you run off to? Did you go crying to Tom? I'm telling you, it won't do you any good!"

"Tom belongs to your sister. The only one you get to marry is—"

Before she could finish, Lawyer Chavez stepped in front of her, blocking her, and said gravely, "Ma'am, show some respect."

"I'm Miss Pruitt's attorney. If you lay a hand on her, we'll call the police immediately."

Zoey stalled, then went off at me like a woman having a fit. "What do you need a lawyer for? What, you think you're going to sue us?"

"I'm your mother. If you dare sue us, that makes you an ungrateful child—"

Lawyer Chavez cut her off again, his voice cold. "You're not her mother."

"According to the paternity test and other documents Old Mr. Lawrence left behind, Miss Pruitt is the daughter of Ms. Maggie Lawrence. Which makes her your niece."

"You are only Miss Pruitt's aunt. You are not her legal guardian."