He Stole His Father’s Life-Saving Money,So I Took Back My Company and My Life

Mortimer's lips curled into a sneer of contempt.

"Renee, I really did underestimate you."

"Using my parents for money wasn't enough—now you're trying to sell the company behind my back?"

"Good thing Renata saw this coming. She figured you'd pull something desperate, so I transferred the company to her name for safekeeping."

"I trust her to hold it for me."

"At least she's better than handing it to someone whose only goal is to bleed my family dry!"

Renata stood beside him, triumph glittering in her eyes.

Then she sighed, her voice dripping with false concern.

"Ms. Gilbert, I don't mean to overstep."

"You and Mortimer are husband and wife. If you're struggling, you could just talk to him."

"But to scheme like this? To make him sign away everything without even knowing?"

"That level of calculation... it's honestly frightening."

I felt my disgust rise like bile.

Looking at the self-satisfied man in front of me, I felt revulsion for the first time.

"Calculation? Using people?"

I repeated the words, my voice dangerously low.

I stood abruptly, seized Mortimer's wrist, and started dragging him toward the door.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Let go!!"

Mortimer wrenched free instinctively.

I turned on him. "You don't believe me?"

"Then let's go to the hospital. Right now. To the ICU."

"See for yourself whether your father is faking it."

"See if that five million you transferred—and your precious company—is worth more than your own father's life!"

Renata lunged at me, shoving hard against my shoulders.

I blocked her with the back of my arm, each word dropping like a stone.

"This is my family's business. Back off."

Security rushed in. It took three of them to pull us apart.

Renata was shielded immediately—just a small split on her lip.

Me? She'd stuck her foot out as I stumbled back. My lower back slammed into the sharp corner of the desk.

The pain whited out my vision. I couldn't stand.

Then Mortimer grabbed the ashtray from the desk and hurled it at me.

It struck my head. Blood ran down my face.

But Mortimer was already at Renata's side, his expression twisted with worry.

"Renata, does it hurt? Are you injured anywhere else?"

His voice was urgent, tender.

Nothing like the perfunctory concern he'd shown during any of my illnesses over the years.

Renata shook her head. "I'm fine. It's just... Ms. Gilbert, she..."

She looked at me, trailing off as if the words were too delicate to speak.

Only then did Mortimer turn to me. His gaze hardened instantly.

"Renee, are you done with this insanity?!"

"Attacking someone in front of everyone—look at yourself!"

"You're acting like some street thug!"

"This is assault. Apologize to Renata. Now."

Blood from my forehead trickled along my brow and pooled at my eyelid.

I wiped it away. My vision cleared.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

In over thirty years of living, has anything ever been more absurd than this?

"Apologize? To whom? To her?"

I looked at Renata and caught the smirk she didn't bother to hide.

"Yes! Immediately!"

Mortimer pressed on, as if this were the most reasonable demand in the world.

I ignored him. Bent down and gathered the scattered documents from the floor.

"Mr. Lambert, I'll need you to handle the next steps."

Then I limped toward the door.

"We're not finished here! You think you can just leave?!"

"Renee, stop right there!"

Mortimer moved to block me.

I didn't stop.

I didn't look back.

Explain myself?

What was left to explain?

My father-in-law was still in the ICU, waiting for money that would never come.

The company route had collapsed. I needed another way.

I took a deep breath and buried everything I was feeling.

I called a few old friends—people I'd helped before, people who owed me favors.

Over the phone, I didn't go into details.

Piece by piece, I scraped together just over a million dollars.

Enough for the surgery, at least. The imported medications and follow-up costs would have to wait.

I grabbed the money and rushed to the hospital.

My phone rang on the way.

Beverly. I answered immediately.

"Mom, I've got some of the money together. I'm on my way now."

"He's gone..."

Her voice was calm. Unnervingly calm.

"Your father... he's gone..."

"What? Mom, what do you mean? What happened to Dad?"

"The doctors said this morning his condition had stabilized—"

Her composure shattered. The sound that came through was raw, gutted, hopeless.

"He pulled out his own tubes... the monitors started screaming..."

"By the time they found him... it was already... already..."

I went numb. It never occurred to me that he would take his own life.

The next few days blurred together as I handled the funeral arrangements.

At some point, I asked Beverly if she wanted to notify Mortimer.

She shook her head. Her expression was ice.

"As far as I'm concerned, I never had a son. I don't want anything to do with him ever again."