Chapter 5

Night had fallen, and the city lights shimmered awake.

Inside a private dining room of an elegant restaurant, Chris lifted his glass, his expression more solemn than ever before.

"Emma, I have to drink this toast to you." His voice carried a trace of emotion. "I'm already divorced from your sister, yet you still trust me without hesitation. You didn't even ask for a reason before lending me three hundred thousand. That's a debt of kindness I'll remember for the rest of my life."

Emma's cheeks flushed faintly. She hurriedly raised her glass of juice in return.

"Chris, please don't say that."

She took a sip, then looked at him with earnest eyes. "Even if you're no longer my brother-in-law, to me, you've always been an exceptional person. Compared to the help you've given me, this money is nothing."

A warmth spread through Chris's chest. He downed his drink in one go.

They spoke for a long time over that meal—memories of the past, their worries, and fragile hopes for the future.

When dinner ended, Emma insisted on escorting him home.

"You're carrying a fortune now. Safety first," she teased with a smile.

She didn't yet know that Chris had already spent all 350,000 dollars earlier that very day.

He didn't argue, only chuckled with a touch of mischief. "Alright then, Em. Thank you."

The affectionate address made her pause. A blush slowly spread across her face.

"Th-then… let's go."

Back at his modest home, Chris opened the door to find his parents sitting stiffly on the worn living room sofa, their faces dark and heavy.

The air was thick, like the weight before a storm.

"You're finally home." His father, George Carter, broke the silence first. His voice was low and raspy.

"Dad, Mom… why aren't you asleep yet?" Chris's stomach tightened. He knew this moment would come.

His mother, Laura Keller, had swollen eyes. She had clearly been crying.

"Chris, tell me honestly. Have you been borrowing money from everyone you know?" Her voice trembled.

George added coldly, "And I heard you even pushed those lenders to buy property in that cursed Westridge Terrace neighborhood. What's wrong with you? Were you duped… or have you lost your senses?"

Worry laced every word.

Chris sat down on the small stool opposite them, silent for a moment. Then, drawing a deep breath as though making a final decision, he lifted his head.

"Dad, Mom, there's something I have to tell you."

His gaze was calm but carried exhaustion. "I've divorced Katie. And yes… I've borrowed a lot of money. Katie's younger sister, Emma, lent me three hundred thousand."

His parents froze, as if struck by lightning.

"Wh-what?!" Laura's voice shot up. "D-divorced?!"

She shot to her feet, disbelief etched in every line of her face. "Chris! Did you do something unforgivable to Katie?!"

He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.

"No, Mom. It was her. Katie despised me for having no ability, for being a househusband these past two years. She thinks I'm a useless man living off her. So she kicked me out."

Laura staggered, her vision swimming black. George barely caught her before she collapsed. Tears streamed down her face.

"My poor son! Married for more than two years and not even a child between you! And now this? Just like that? What's going to become of you?

"You don't even have a job. And you've borrowed all that money—over three hundred thousand! How will you ever repay it?!"

She beat her chest, wailing.

Chris's heart clenched at the sight of his devastated mother. He stepped forward and gently took her trembling hand.

"Mom, please don't worry."

His voice was quiet, but it carried a firm strength. "Very soon, I'll give you the life you deserve. You won't have to wake before dawn anymore, won't have to break your backs selling vegetables at the market."

George had remained silent as he smoked one cigarette after another. The haze concealed his expression.

Finally, he stubbed out the butt, lifted bloodshot eyes, and rasped, "As for us… we don't matter. We're just old bones. How many more years do we have left? But you—you're our only hope. We just want you to live well."

His words struck Chris's heart like a hammer. His nose burned, but he forced back the sting of tears. He murmured reassurances, promising he knew what he was doing, urging them not to worry.

But that night, no one in the Carter household slept.

How could his parents not worry? They lay awake, eyes open in the dark, their thoughts heavy and restless until dawn.

As the morning light filtered into the room, a mechanical voice echoed in Chris's mind:

[Daily Intelligence Refreshed.]

[Alert 1: Target—Emma. This morning at 9:00 a.m., she will return to the Westridge Terrace realty office, where she is expected to purchase five additional properties and finalize the transactions.]

[Alert 2: At the Lucky Scratch-Offs lottery kiosk, Unit B-12 in the Relx Plaza shopping center, a winning "$20,000 Cash Blast" ticket will be sold between 10:00 and 11:00 a.m. today.]

[Alert 3: At approximately 3:15 p.m. today, your mother, Laura, will be accidentally struck by a youth with bleached blond hair riding a modified yellow motorcycle while tending her vegetable stall, resulting in a scraped and sprained left calf. Immediate medical attention will be required.]

The third alert crashed over him like a bucket of ice water.

His chest tightened, heart lurching into his throat.

His mom would be injured this afternoon!

Even if it was just a scrape and a sprain, the thought of her suffering made his gut twist.

No. He couldn't allow it. He would never let her get hurt.

He took a glance at the clock. It was just past seven in the morning.

The winning ticket would be sold between ten and eleven. His mother's accident was slated for three fifteen after noon.

There was still time.

He inhaled deeply, resolution steeling his face.

First, he'd get that "$20,000 Cash Blast" ticket. With more money in hand, his parents would finally trust his judgment.

He washed up in a rush, skipped breakfast, and hurried straight for Relx Plaza.

The plaza was packed. Outside the Lucky Scratch-Offs lottery kiosk, a small crowd of hopeful players had gathered, dreaming of a big win.

Chris squeezed his way through, his eyes instantly finding the display of "Cash Blast" tickets.

"Boss, let me get twenty of those 'Cash Blast' tickets," he said, pointing decisively.

Fifty bucks in one go. The system said the winning ticket would be sold between ten and eleven. Buying in bulk was his best shot to catch it.

He carried the stack of tickets to a side counter, pulled a quarter from his pocket, and started scratching away the silvery coating, one by one.