“And now you blame me? You’re the same as him. A gold digger. You insolent—”
“Kendra, defend me,” Evelyn snapped.
Kendra pulled at Russell’s sleeve, but Russell didn’t react.
He was paralyzed, just staring at the closed gate.
His mind was racing.
Meredith had sold the house.
That was a fact.
He couldn’t get in.
He had to get them out of there.
It was humiliating.
He could see some of the neighbors’ cars slowing down as they passed, the passengers looking curious.
Money.
He needed money.
He had to take them to a hotel.
Or Kendra’s apartment.
Yes.
The apartment.
At least there was a place to rest.
But to get there, he needed money for a taxi.
Russell checked his pockets.
His wallet was thin.
Only a few $50 bills.
The rest of the cash—he’d spent it in Cabo before the card problem started.
It was barely enough for a taxi, let alone a hotel.
The credit cards were blocked.
That meant Meredith had already taken action.
But there was still the joint account—the household account.
He remembered clearly there was still $140,000 in there.
Meredith wouldn’t be so stupid as to drain a joint account.
That was their money.
With somewhat shaky hands, Russell pulled out his cell phone.
He ignored Kendra and his mother, who were still screaming at each other.
He opened his mobile banking app.
He found the joint account icon.
He entered the password.
His heart was pounding.
The application opened.
He pressed balance inquiry.
A number appeared on the screen.
A number that made him feel nauseous.
Available balance: $0.
Completely empty.
Down to the zero.
“No. Impossible,” Russell mumbled.
He hit the refresh button.
The result was the same.
He logged out and logged back in.
Still the same zero.
And then he remembered.
Meredith had blocked his number.
This wasn’t a system error.
This was intentional.
Meredith had drained the account.
A cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
He quickly switched to his personal payroll account—the account where he received his director’s salary.
He still had his job.
He was the director.
He opened the app.
Balance: $250.
Only $250.
The paycheck had just arrived last week, but he’d been spending freely in Cabo, thinking he could just use the corporate card.
He was broke.
No house.
No money.
“Honey,” Kendra shook him. “Let’s go to my apartment. The apartment you bought me. I don’t want to be here.”
The apartment.
Oh God.
Russell remembered.
He had bought Kendra a small studio apartment six months ago.
But the money he’d used—company funds—diverted money from a vendor.
He was sure Meredith didn’t know.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “The apartment. Let’s go.”
He had to calm the situation.
He opened the taxi app.
Just as he was about to press the button, a motorcycle stopped in front of them.
A delivery driver in a green jacket got off, carrying a large, very well-wrapped box—silver metallic foil with a large, elegant black satin ribbon.
“Excuse me,” the driver said, reading the label. “Package for Mr. Russell Preston and Miss Kendra Davis.”
Russell, Kendra, and Evelyn all turned at the same time.
They fell silent.
“Yes, that’s me,” Kendra replied hesitantly, stepping forward.
“Correct. Mr. Russell Preston and Ms. Kendra Davis. Address is 1 Acacia Lane. Please sign here.”
Russell signed, his hand numb.
The driver handed him the large, heavy box and immediately drove away.
Now the three of them—along with the rest of the shocked family—stood on the curb, looking at this luxurious gift box.
“What is it?” Russell’s sister-in-law asked.
Kendra saw a small card tied to the ribbon.
She took it.
It was written in very elegant calligraphy.
My calligraphy.
“What does it contain?” Evelyn asked suspiciously. “It won’t be garbage, will it?”
“I don’t think so, Mom,” Russell said, but his heart was pounding.
Kendra read the card aloud, her voice trembling.
“Congratulations on your wedding. Your first wedding gift. Open it.
“A gift from me.”
After everything, this felt wrong.
“Maybe it’s an apology,” Kendra blurted out, her eyes suddenly shining. “Maybe there’s jewelry or a check.
“She realized she made a mistake selling the house and is giving us compensation.”
“Open it,” Evelyn ordered, her greed overcoming her suspicion.
With still-trembling hands, Russell placed the box on the suitcase.
He pulled the black satin ribbon.
It untied smoothly.
He tore the expensive silver paper.
Inside was a very sturdy black box.
No brand—just a simple, heavy black box.
He lifted the lid.
Inside was not what Kendra expected.
No jewelry.
No stacks of bills.
No check.
Inside, resting on a bed of black satin, were two thick, officially sealed white envelopes.
The paper was rigid and expensive.
The logo of the company where Russell worked—Vance and Associates Design Build—was printed in the upper left corner.
One envelope said: To Mr. Russell Preston.
The second envelope said: To Miss Kendra Davis.
Russell’s breath caught.
This wasn’t a gift.
This was official.
“They’re just letters,” Kendra shouted, disappointed.
She immediately snatched the envelope with her name on it.
“What is this?”
Russell grabbed his envelope.
His hands were stiff.