A Family Built on Lies

After that, I double-checked the buyer's information with the woman several times.

"Could you leave me your contact information and phone number so I can reserve the property for you?"

It wasn't until I saw the information she'd filled out and confirmed that the buyer's name and ID number matched my father's that I finally gave up hope.

It really was my father, Austin Bennett.

The woman handed me the paperwork and smiled. "Young man, I hope you treat your partner just as well someday. It's not easy being a woman in this world.

"Next week is my thirty-fifth birthday. He said he'd give me anything I wanted.

"The apartment is a little old, but it's right in the city center. Once I renovate it, it'll be just right for the two of us to live in."

The woman's "kind" words pierced my heart like a needle.

The property my grandmother, Renna Patterson, had left my mother, Jenna Bennett, as her own little refuge was now about to become a gift from Dad to another woman.

I suppressed my discomfort and tentatively asked, "What if... what if your partner can't come up with that much money?

"I don't mean anything by it. Buying a property is a big expense, after all. It would be a problem if something went wrong at the last minute..."

But the woman burst out laughing as if she'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. "If he can't even come up with two million for a property, why would I stay with him?

"Young man, I'll tell you something. Several of my partner's business projects have made a fortune recently!"

As she spoke, she waved the Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet on her wrist. "See this? He casually bought it for me last weekend," she said smugly.

I stared at the bracelet, hatred threatening to consume me. "Your partner sounds very romantic."

My voice tightened. "For my mom's birthday, my dad gave her an insulated mug from a supermarket promotion."

The woman raised her eyebrows smugly. "Men have to know who's worth spending money on."

She stroked her new bracelet. "Last week, I casually mentioned that I wanted Japanese, and he immediately booked a restaurant that cost $200 per person. Has your mom ever been to a place like that?"

My stomach churned.

I remembered how, on Mom's birthday last month, Dad had claimed he was busy with work and told her to make herself a bowl of bolognese.

I took a deep breath and swallowed the questions threatening to spill out. "Your partner sounds very considerate."

I forced a businesslike smile. "I'll prepare the paperwork in advance for the contract signing next week."

The woman tossed her hair smugly when a notification suddenly sounded on her phone.

She glanced at the screen, the corners of her mouth lifting. "Oh, he's reminding me to go for a test drive."

She deliberately turned the screen toward me. "He insists on getting me a Porsche. Says my old car isn't good enough for me."

On the chat screen, Dad's contact was saved as "Husband," and his latest message contained the location of a car dealership.

I dug my fingernails into my palm.

The day before, Mom had asked him to accompany her to get her electric bike repaired. He'd said he had to meet a client.

The woman swayed away, leaving the scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

Before she left, I added her on social media under the pretext of making future communication easier.

That evening, she updated her social media.

[Test-Drive Surprise! Someone says white will match my new dress.]

The photo showed Dad smiling as he held the car door open, with the dealership in the background.

I scrolled down.

Last Wednesday: [Late-Night Feast.]

Dad stood in an apron, cooking an elaborate seafood dinner in a luxuriously decorated kitchen.

When Mom's arthritis flared up and left her unable to get out of bed to cook, he'd told her to make do with mac and cheese.

Last Sunday: [Unboxing My Gifts.]

Luxury shopping bags were piled all over a sofa.

Meanwhile, our household accounts from the same period showed that he'd refused to buy Mom a new refrigerator.

In every photo, Dad wore a doting smile, a stark contrast to the gloomy expression he wore at home as he complained that "business was tough."

I took screenshots of everything, saving them as evidence.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated. Dad was calling.

"Evan, how's the property coming along?" His voice sounded tired. "Your mom's been nagging me lately. Try talking some sense into her."

I stared at the photo on her social media of him with his arm around his mistress as they tried out the car.

"Dad," I asked softly, "what time are you coming home today? Mom made pot roast."

He paused.

"No, I have to entertain a client." He sighed. "Business is tough these days."

Then the call ended.

I opened the social media post Mom had just shared. The photo showed her standing in front of our old refrigerator. The caption read: [The fridge suddenly stopped cooling, and the meat smells a little off. Does anyone know how to save it?]

The first comment was from Dad. [Don't waste it. Just cook it longer, and it'll still be fine.]

I saved all the screenshots and turned off my phone.

When the day came to sign the contract next week, I'd have a substantial "present" of my own to give him—one that carried plenty of weight.