Money for My Brother's Plastic Surgery

"Put off your treatment for now. Once your brother becomes handsome, he can snag a rich woman, and then you'll have all the money you need for treatment."

I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window in my office on the 28th floor, staring at those words on my phone screen. I suddenly felt suffocated.

It wasn't due to anger. I was physically suffocating.

Last month, I was diagnosed with a cardiac myxoma. The tumor had grown into my left atrium and could detach at any moment, causing a stroke or sudden death.

The doctor said I needed open-heart surgery to remove the tumor as soon as possible. I'd need at least $75,000 for the surgery cost plus the cost of the imported replacement valve and ICU fees.

I hadn't told my family how serious my condition was, only that I had a health issue requiring surgery because I knew my dad wouldn't feel sad for me. He'd only feel sad for the money.

The $75,000 was painstakingly saved, penny by penny, by selling my car, moving out of my city-center rental to the distant suburbs, taking on three part-time jobs, and working late for ninety days straight.

It was money to save my life.

But with a casual "put it off for now", my dad took my life-saving money to pay for Henry's chin implant and cheekbone reduction.

Perhaps because the air conditioning in the office was blasting, my hands and feet were icy cold, and my stomach was churning.

I didn't reply to that text.

I opened my mobile banking app and entered my password. My hands shook so much I got it wrong twice.

On the third try, I successfully logged in.

The balance showed: 42 cents.

$75,000, not even a dollar left.

Opening the transaction history, I saw that at 3 PM yesterday, $75,000 was transferred to my dad's account.

Additionally, an $8,000 credit loan was taken out in my name, and the funds were immediately transferred to my dad's account as soon as they were received.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Thirty years.

When I was little, Henry wanted piano lessons, so my dad stopped my French classes. When Henry wanted a luxury watch, my dad made me hand over my newly received bonus.

I had always put up with it. I thought that if I worked hard enough and remained obedient, one day my dad would see my efforts and give me a little bit of fatherly love.

But now, I realized it was just a pipe dream.

It wasn't simple favoritism anymore. He genuinely didn't care if I lived or died.

My life wasn't worth as much as Henry's plastic surgery to help him snag a rich woman.

When I opened my eyes again, my gaze was completely cold.

I picked up the desk phone and dialed the bank's customer service.

"Hello, someone stole $75,000 from my bank account, then impersonated me to take out an $8,000 loan. I demand all my accounts be frozen immediately, and that an overseas transfer made yesterday at 3 PM be intercepted."

The customer service representative's voice immediately turned serious. "Sir, if an overseas transfer has already been credited, we cannot unilaterally recall it. We advise you to report it to the police immediately."

"I know. Just freeze all my accounts first. All of them."

After hanging up, I dialed 911.

"Hello, I'd like to report a crime. $75,000 was stolen from my bank account, and an $8,000 loan was taken out in my name through identity theft."

The dispatcher asked, "Do you know who the suspect is?"

"Yes," I answered, my voice devoid of any emotion, "It's my father, Jack Lester."