Chapter 1

At the Thanksgiving dinner, I wouldn't spill any details about my job since I'd signed a permanent non-disclosure agreement, and I refused to cover my gambling-obsessed cousin's one-million-dollar debt.

I'd just sent my parents 30,000 dollars as a Thanksgiving gift when my dad smashed his glass, shards flying everywhere. "If you can't even tell us what your real job is, you must be cheating or scamming people.

"I'm afraid even holding that dirty money will bring me bad luck!"

My mom wiped her tears and chimed in, every word cutting deep. "Stop pretending. How could you make that much money out of nowhere? You must have gone astray. You have no sense of dignity or self-respect at all.

"Eric is the only son in our family. If you won't help him, who will? If you really can't, just go have a few meals with the casino owner. Maybe he'll clear the debt and arrange a cushy job for Eric."

I thought about the three-million-dollar riverside villa registered under my parents' names, the thirty-thousand-dollar Thanksgiving dinner I'd paid for, the gift money that instantly got forwarded to Eric, and the picture of the casino owner with that thuggish face.

Whatever tiny shred of hope I had for family love melted away.

On the spot, I called my real estate lawyer to take back the ownership of the villa and canceled the unlimited transfer privileges I'd given them.

Since they thought my money was dirty, from now on, they wouldn't get a dime.

*****

Dad smashed the glass right in front of me.

Shards flew everywhere. A piece skimmed my hand, leaving a bloody scratch.

I didn't move.

Across from me sat my dad, my mom, my uncle, Jack, my aunt-in-law, Mavis, and my cousin, Eric.

None of them even bothered to look at my bleeding hand.

Ten seconds earlier, I'd just sent my dad 30,000 dollars as a Thanksgiving gift.

He glanced at his phone, and then smashed his glass. "Tell me, what exactly do you do for a living?"

My dad stared at me, his face flushed. He'd had way too much to drink.

I said, "Dad, I've told you a million times. I signed a non-disclosure agreement. I can't talk about it."

"Bullshit!" he practically yelled. "What kind of decent job can't be talked about? Are you stealing or robbing people?"

Jack spoke up, "Frank, don't be angry. Rachel probably has her own reasons."

He sounded like he was on my side, but then he changed the subject. "But seriously, Rachel, how much do you make each month? I'm your uncle, so you can tell me."

My mom wiped her tears. "Rachel, just open up to us. Your dad and I worry all the time and can't sleep at night. We're afraid that you're going down the wrong path."

Going down the wrong path.

I'd been hearing that for ten years, ever since I signed my first job contract at 22.

Back then, I made three thousand dollars a month and sent six hundred dollars home every month.

No one ever bothered to ask if I had enough money to support myself.

After that, I changed jobs and my salary went up.

I started sending home more and more money: 600 dollars, then 1,500 dollars, and then 3,000 dollars.

Still, nobody cared enough to ask.

Then one year, I sent home 60 thousand dollars to help them renovate the old house. That was when my mom started calling me, three times a week.

She never asked how I was doing.

She always said, "Rachel, your uncle needs some money to finish building his house. Can you help out?"

"Rachel, Eric needs a job. Can you help him out?"

"Rachel, Eric's girlfriend's family is asking for a lot of wedding gifts. We can't scrape together that much..."

Every time she called, it was like getting a bill. And I always paid.

Because my mom would cry. And whenever she cried, my heart would melt.

Now she was crying again. But this time, it was for a different reason.

"Eric owes one million dollars, and the debt collectors showed up at our door. Do you know about this?" Mavis finally spoke up.

Her eyes were moist, but her stare was steely.

She was giving me an ultimatum.

I turned to Eric.

He sat at the far end of the table, head bowed, silent.

A bluish bruise circled his neck—half-healed, still obvious.

"One million dollars? Was it all from gambling?" I asked.

Mavis's expression shifted. "Gambling? No. He just lost money in business, that's all."

Eric still didn't look up.

My dad slammed his fork down on the table. "Why all the questions? Aren't we family? Your cousin's in trouble. Are you going to help him or not?"

The dishes were still piping hot on the table.

I was the one who ordered this fancy dinner, and I paid for it all.

Every Thanksgiving Day, the bill was always on me.

I looked at the scratch on the back of my hand, and suddenly, I felt the sting.

But it wasn't my hand that really hurt.

"I'll help Eric," I said.

Everyone let out a sigh of relief.

I went on, "But I need to know who exactly he owes that one million dollars to."

Mavis slid a photo across the table to me.

On the screen was a beefy, rough-looking middle-aged man standing next to a black Land Rover. His smile was obviously phony.

"That's him, Mr. Black. He runs several casinos in the south," she said.

I stared at the photo for a few seconds, and then handed the phone back. "So, you've already talked to him?"

Mavis didn't say a word. But my mom did.

She wiped her tears, her voice barely above a whisper. "Rachel, Mr. Black said he could reduce the debt, but..."

She paused, glancing at me. "He wants to meet you."