Chapter 3

My fingertips went stiff.

The edge of the frame inside the coat pressed into my palm.

Like my dad's thin, withered hand right before he died.

When he handed me an old account book, he'd said, "Juliette, don't ever use a debt of gratitude to pressure someone unless you've truly got no other choice. But if someday someone walks all over you, don't go playing the bigger person on your dad's behalf either."

Back then I just nodded.

I thought I'd never have to use it.

I thought the Sinclair family had truly accepted me.

I walked over to the long banquet table.

There sat a massive three-tier fondant cake, with "Congratulations on the Sinclair Family's New Home" written across it.

I gently set the bundle from my arms onto the table.

Unwrapped the coat.

The shattered frame emerged, carrying a sharp, sour, rotting smell.

The wealthy women around me covered their noses and stepped back.

Beverly's face went livid. "Juliette! You get that filthy thing out of here right now!"

"The ones who should get out of here are all of you."

From the soaked bag, I pulled out an old account book sealed in a waterproof pouch.

On the first page, a yellowed IOU was tucked inside.

Borrower: Richard Sinclair.

"You still recognize this handwriting, don't you?"

I slapped the IOU down on the table.

The corner of the paper quickly soaked through with the champagne on the table.

Richard's hand jerked, the wine glass trembling.

Wine spilled onto his designer leather shoes.

He instinctively reached out to grab the IOU.

I let out a cold laugh and pinned his hand down hard with the account book.

His hand was nailed there, unable to move.

The sound in the hall seemed to be choked off all at once.

I stared into his eyes and spoke slowly.

"Ten million."