Chapter 2
"Emmaline, don't hold it against me. Macey and I grew up together. If she hadn't gone overseas, we would've been together long ago. I know you've treated me well all these years, but you can't force feelings..." Desmond said.
He left the sentence hanging.
But I understood every word he left unsaid.
"Desmond," I said, pulling the door open without looking back. "You should check who actually invested that 8 million dollars in your company."
The door closed behind me.
When I got to the gate of the neighborhood, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.
"Soren, I need you to draft a lawsuit for me," I said. "Defendant: Desmond Cardenas."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"Ms. Murphy, you've finally come to your senses," Soren Vazquez said.
The iron gates of Windmere Estate swung open, and the car rolled down Silverleaf Lane, stopping right at the front steps.
Mason Walsh was waiting at the door.
He was in his sixties and had worked for my dad for thirty years. One look at me, and he could tell something was wrong.
"Ms. Murphy," he started.
"Mason, where's my dad?" I asked.
"In the study."
I went upstairs and pushed the door open.
My dad was sitting behind his mahogany desk, reading over some paperwork with his reading glasses perched on his nose.
There were four or five contracts stacked on the desk, and a cup of coffee that had long gone cold off to the side.
He looked up at me. "Who?"
My dad was always a man of few words.
People who did business with him said his words were so rare that one could count them on one hand, but whenever my dad spoke, no one ever dared not to respond.
But with me, he never needed to put on a show.
"Desmond's first love is back. We're divorced. I walked away with nothing," I said.
My dad took off his glasses and looked at me for three seconds.
Then he picked up the phone and dialed a number.
"Soren, it's me. Emmaline's divorced, and she walked away with nothing. Take care of it," he said.
The called ended in less than twenty seconds.
After hanging up, he went back to reading his paperwork.
"Emmaline, now that you're back, just stay here. When your mom passed away, she told me to look after you. I haven't done a good job of that these past few years," he said.
That was when the tears finally fell.
It wasn't because of Desmond.
It was because of my mom.
She passed away when I was nineteen. She was so frail by then, barely recognizable, holding my dad's hand and saying, "Alexander, Emmaline's still so young. Please take care of her."
My dad had to shoulder all the responsibilities by himself, and still worry about me—the daughter who always gave him trouble.
When I decided to marry Desmond, he never said a word to stop me. On my wedding day, he stood in the very back, watched me from a distance, and quietly left.
There was so much behind that look, but I didn't understand it at the time.
Now, I got it all.
"Dad, I'm going to sue him," I said.
"Do it," he said.
"I'm going to make him cough up everything he swallowed."
My dad put down his papers and looked at me. "Emmaline, whatever you want to do, I'm behind you.
"But remember this, from now on, never let anyone make you compromise yourself for their sake. You're Alexander's daughter. Murphys don't suffer indignity."
I wiped away my tears and nodded.
"Dad," I said.
"Mm," he replied.
"That 8 million dollars..."
"I know."
Of course he knew. Six years ago, I was on my knees outside this study from afternoon all the way until ten at night. He opened the door, didn't say a word, signed the check, and handed it to me.
The next day, that money landed in Desmond's company account.
Desmond thought it was an angel investor.
He never imagined in a million years that the so-called angel investor was actually his wife, who had knelt and pleaded for it.
"Soren will go after the money. Not a single dollar missing," my dad said.
Mason led me up to the room on the second floor.
I hadn't stayed here in six years, but the bedding was fresh, and there was a cup of warm milk waiting on the nightstand.
My phone buzzed.
It was Desmond.
He'd finally seen my WhatsApp message.
He said: [What do you mean by 8 million dollars? What are you talking about?]
I didn't reply.
He sent three more messages: [Emmaline, calm down.
[We can talk about this.
[Don't do anything reckless.]
I deleted him from WhatsApp and blocked him.
The baby in my belly gave a gentle kick, like it was saying hi.
"Get some rest," I said, rubbing my belly. "Starting tomorrow, I'm going to war."
*****
The next morning, my phone rang.
It was from Emilia Parker, Desmond's mom.
"Emmaline, are you out of your mind? Suing Desmond? Who do you think you are, suing him?" she practically yelled.
"Emilia—" I started.
"Don't call me Emilia. You've been calling me Mom for six years, and now you're turning your back on me? Not even a 'Mom' anymore?" she snapped.
I held the phone a little farther from my ear.