Chapter 1

I made 1.6 million dollars a year, and every year I sent 1.5 million to my parents. My husband never said a word about it.

But when my father suddenly had a brain hemorrhage at 63, I asked him to get the money for the surgery up front. He tossed the bank card in front of me and said, "Take a look yourself. See how much is left."

My name was Nina Carter, and I was 37 years old. I was a Senior Director of Engineering at an internet company, and with my salary and stock options, I took home 1.6 million dollars a year.

In the tech world, there weren't many women who had made it this far.

But what got my colleagues talking wasn't my job title but how devoted I was to my parents.

Every year, I transferred 1.5 million dollars to my parents.

"Nina, you're the most devoted person I've ever met," Emily Clark, a female programmer in my team, said more than once.

"My parents worked so hard to raise me. Now that I can, it's only right that I give back to them," I always replied.

My husband, Henry Carter, was an orthopedic surgeon at a hospital, earning 280 thousand dollars a year. We had been married for eight years and had a six-year-old son named Lucas Carter.

To outsiders, we were the picture-perfect educated, high-earning family.

Henry never questioned how much I sent to my parents.

Every time I finished transferring the money, he'd just look up at me for a second, then go right back to his medical journals.

I always saw that as his trust in me until that phone call came.

"Nina! Your dad had a brain hemorrhage. He's already at Central City Hospital." My mom's sobs echoed through the phone.

I stood frozen in my office, my mind buzzing. "Mom, don't panic. I'll take care of it. How much is the surgery?"

"The doctor said we need to pay 170 thousand dollars. Your dad..."

"I'll ask Henry to get the money. Hang in there for now."

I hung up, my fingers trembling as I texted Henry: [My dad had a brain hemorrhage and is in the hospital. Can you take my card to pay the surgery fee? It's 170 thousand dollars. You know the PIN.]

Henry replied instantly: [Okay.]

I booked the earliest flight back to Oakridge. By the time I landed, it was already three in the afternoon.

When I got to the hospital, my dad was still in surgery.

My mom and my brother, Eric Brown, were sitting on a bench in the hallway. My mom's eyes were all puffy from crying.

Eric was clutching his phone, a worried look on his face. "'Nina, did the money come?"

"Henry went to handle it. It should be here soon," I replied.

I called Henry.

After three rings, he picked up.

"Did you pay the fee?" I asked.

There was a two-second silence on the other end. Then he said, "Nina, you need to come over."

"What do you mean? I'm outside the operating room right now, accompanying my mom—"

"I said, you need to come over." His tone was flat, but the way he said it made my skin crawl.

"Henry, what's going on? It's 170 thousand dollars. Hurry up and—"

"Your card only has less than 28 thousand dollars left."

I didn't catch what he said. "What did you say?"

"28 thousand dollars. Nina, you've made over 14 million dollars in the past nine years, and now your account only has less than 28 thousand dollars."

My hand was shaking as I held the phone. "No way, you must be mistaken."

"I'm not mistaken." His voice was as cold as a scalpel. "Check it yourself."

I lowered my head and opened the mobile banking app, entering my password.

The screen refreshed.

[Balance: 27804.19 dollars.]

The harsh hallway lights glared off the screen, and that number made my eyes sting.

Eric leaned in. "Nina, what's wrong?"

I didn't answer.

I scrolled through my transaction history as if I were losing my mind.

Every month, 133 thousand dollars was deposited, and the same day or the following day, 126 thousand dollars went out. The recipient was Frank Brown, my dad.

Or at the end of the year, 1.6 million dollars came in, and the next day, 1.5 million dollars was transferred out. The recipient was Frank Brown again.

Transaction after transaction, year after year. It had been nine years.

I scrolled back through nine years.

I had sent my parents more than 13 million dollars.

And now, I couldn't come up with 170 thousand dollars.

My mom was still crying beside me. "Nina, your dad's surgery—"

I looked up at her. "Mom, over the past nine years, I've sent you and Dad at least 13 million dollars."

Her sobs came to an abrupt halt.

"Where's the money?"