Chapter 4 - The Gathering Storm
The day before the dinner party passed with an eerie, deceptive calm. Vanessa spent most of her time shopping at high-end boutiques, entirely unaware that her credit cards had been blocked. When she returned home late in the afternoon, her face was flushed with irritation.
“Minh! Your credit cards are not working!” she snapped, throwing her designer handbag onto the living room sofa. “The boutique assistant looked at me like I was a common thief. Fix it immediately. I have an outfit to buy for tomorrow night.”
I looked up from my laptop at the dining table. My mother was sitting quietly in the corner, shelling peas into a small ceramic bowl.
“Fix what?” I asked mildly.
“The accounts! The bank must have made a glitch. Call them and sort it out. I need money,” she demanded, walking over and standing right above me.
“There is no glitch, Vanessa,” I said, closing my laptop screen with a soft click. “The primary accounts have been secured. Secondary card access has been revoked.”
Vanessa froze. Her eyes widened in shock and fury. “What did you say? Revoked? By whose authority? You have no right—I am your wife!”
“You are my wife, yes,” I stood up, towering over her. The casual warmth I had worn since returning was gone, replaced by an icy composure that made her step back. “And because you are my wife, I assumed you would treat my mother with dignity, respect, and basic human decency while I was away building our future.”
Vanessa’s expression twisted into defensive hostility. “Oh, so this is about the old woman? You’re freezing our accounts because she complained about doing chores? She’s a peasant! She belongs in the dirt! You’ve been gone for eighteen months, and the moment you step back, you listen to her whining?”
At the sound of those words, my mother’s hands trembled, dropping a pea back into the bowl.
“Enough,” I said, my voice dropping to a quiet, lethal register. “Go to your room, Vanessa. Pack your things. Your parents are coming over tomorrow night for dinner. You’re going to explain to them why your lifestyle is evaporating before your eyes.”
“You can’t do this!” Vanessa shrieked, her voice echoing off the marble walls. “This house is mine! You’re broke! You failed in America! You have nothing without me!”
I couldn't help it. I let out a low, cold laugh.
“Broke?” I walked over to the entryway table and picked up a heavy manila envelope containing the certified closing documents from my corporate buyout in the United States, alongside the fresh bank statements showing my eight-million-dollar asset portfolio. I tossed the envelope onto the floor right at her feet.
“Open it,” I said.
Vanessa stared at the envelope. Trembling slightly, she knelt down and pulled out the papers. Her eyes scanned the official corporate seals, the bank balances, the asset valuations, and the legal transfer deeds.
Her face drained of all color. The paper slipped from her nerveless fingers, scattering across the floor.
“Eight… eight million… dollars?” she whispered, her voice cracking in utter disbelief. “You… you sold your shares? You’re a multi-millionaire?”
“And you,” I said, looking down at her with absolute pity, “chose to torture an old woman for a pension card, thinking you were kicking a beggar when she was down. You traded an empire for pocket change.”
Vanessa lunged forward, clutching at the hem of my trousers. “Minh! Please! I was stressed! I was lonely! It was just frustration—please, forgive me! Don't throw me away!”
May you like
I stepped back, pulling my coat free from her grip.
“Tomorrow night,” I repeated. “Be dressed and ready. Your parents arrive at seven.”
