Chapter 2

Ethan's eyes darted around, and he stammered:

"He's... he's someone from the streets, you can't just call him!"

"Stop asking questions, honey — just get the deed! I already contacted an agent. There's a buyer who'll pay cash. The price is a little low, but it saves my life!"

He'd already lined up an agent.

This script was pretty well-written.

Right then, the guest bedroom door burst open with a bang.

My mother-in-law came flying out, hair wild and disheveled, gripping a fruit knife.

"Natalie Shaw, you heartless witch!"

She shrieked and lunged forward, pointing the blade at her own throat, eyes wild with desperation.

"Look at the state Ethan's in, and you're still worried about some stupid property? Are you trying to kill the both of us?"

"I'm telling you — if you don't hand over that deed to save Ethan today, I'll die right here in front of you! I'll make sure everyone knows you drove your own mother-in-law to her death!"

Ethan played along, shouting, "Mom, calm down! Natalie didn't mean it that way!"

"She absolutely meant it! She just wants to hoard her money. I can tell — she'd be happy to see you dead!"

His mother pressed the blade a little harder against her neck.

No blood, but the display was convincing enough.

A year ago, this would have terrified me into handing over the deed without question.

But they didn't know.

Just last night, I'd planted a GPS tracker in his car.

He never went to any investment firm.

He was at the Shangri-La Hotel, in bed with his college girlfriend, Claire, all night long.

Watching this theatrical production of devoted mother and wronged son play out in front of me, I found the whole thing almost absurdly funny.

"Mom, hold the knife steady — don't let your hands shake."

I spoke calmly, my voice so flat and even that the air in the room seemed to freeze.

His mother froze. Knife at her throat, she didn't know whether to push forward or back down.

"You... what did you say?"

"I said, if you really want to die, I can't stop you."

"But if you die here, this becomes a crime scene. The property will be worth even less — Ethan dies faster."

I walked over to the water dispenser and poured myself a glass, moistening my throat.

"Natalie Shaw! Are you even human!"

Ethan jumped up off the floor — apparently done pretending to be injured — and jabbed his finger in my face, cursing at me.

"My own mother is standing there like that, and you're making jokes? Don't test me — I'll kill myself right here!"

"Go ahead."

I set down my glass, met his eyes, and walked toward him, one slow step at a time.

"Then do it. Kill yourself. Right here."

"Didn't you say the loan sharks would cut off your hand?"

"If you're already planning to die, what's one less finger?"

I turned and walked into the kitchen.

Ethan and his mother exchanged a bewildered look, neither of them knowing what I was doing.

A few seconds later, I walked back out carrying a heavy meat cleaver.

The blade caught the light, cold and sharp.

"Ah — what are you doing!"

His mother screamed, and the fruit knife clattered out of her hand and onto the floor.

Ethan stumbled backward until his back was flat against the wall.

"Natalie... honey... don't do anything crazy..."

"I'm not doing anything crazy."

I brought the cleaver down hard on the coffee table. The teacup on top rattled and jumped.

"Since those people want your hand, it's better if I handle it rather than let them."

"I'm your wife. It's my duty to help you."

I looked at Ethan's ashen face and smiled.

"We cut it off, I deliver it for you — clears the debt, saves your life, and saves five million. That's a good deal."

Ethan stared at the cleaver. His throat worked up and down.

Cold sweat mixed with blood trickled down his face, making him look absolutely pathetic.

"Natalie... are you insane?"

"I'm your husband! You'd cut off my hand?"

"I'm not cutting it off. You're paying your debt."

I crossed my arms and watched him with complete composure.

"What's the matter? Scared?"

"Or is there no loan shark at all — and nobody was ever going to cut off your hand?"

Ethan's eyes flashed with panic, and he pushed back immediately:

"Of course there is — it's real! Stop making a scene, honey, just give me the deed. They're waiting downstairs right now!"

"Downstairs?"

I caught that word immediately.

"The loan shark personally came to collect the deed? That's... remarkably attentive service."

Ethan realized he'd slipped up and scrambled to cover:

"It's — it's the agent! The cash buyer is waiting downstairs right now. As soon as they have the deed, the money transfers immediately!"

"Oh. A cash buyer."

I nodded, as if he'd almost convinced me.