“Right. That.”
“But they can’t do that,” I cry out. “The house—it’s ours.”
“Not anymore,” Ginny says. “Not according to these papers.”
“But—”
“Can I see that?” Yulian cuts in.
I blink. Ginny does, too. “Sure,” she says, though not without an edge. “Knock yourself out.”
Yulian’s eyes scan the document. It only takes him a minute to read through all of it. As a businessman, he must have seen countless papers just like it.
“The document’s legit,” he says. “But this bank isn’t to be trusted. It’s not the first time they’ve ‘accidentally’ misplaced client funds to sell the property to the highest bidder.”
My eyes go wide. “You mean my family’s being scammed?”
“I believe so.” He folds the paper neatly and hands it back to my parents, not Ginny. “Is there a construction project going on in your area? Something big?”
“Well, yes,” Mom frowns. “There’s that Baldwin Resort, but?—”
“Brad wouldn’t do that to us,” Ginny scowls. “In fact, he’s the only reason we aren’t on the streets right now. He told us how to reach you.”
My senses go on high alert. “Brad did?”
“Yes, dear sister. The so-called villain of your story. Funny how that worked out, hm?”
“You shouldn’t trust him.” My fists close around the hem of my shorts. “Brad is— He’s a monster.”
“Well,hehelped us,” Ginny doubles down. “Andyoudidn’t. So forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”
Yulian rises from the couch. Everybody’s gaze follows him, worry creasing every face in the room.
But all he does is hand my father a business card. “There’s an address here,” he says. “A spare apartment of mine in the Upper East Side. It’s fully furnished and big enough to accommodate all of you. My associate will meet you here in an hour with the keys.”
… Wait, what?
Dad stares at the business card in his hands, his shock matching mine. “That’s very kind, but we can’t possibly accept?—”
“I insist,” Yulian says. “You’re Mia’s family. That means you’re my family, too.”
My father hesitates. He’s always been a proud man—proud of his work, proud of his life. Proud of the family he provides for.
But pride isn’t going to save him. It isn’t going to save any of them.
Yulian, however, is.
“Dad,” I whisper. “Please, let us do this for you.”
Something softens in his expression when he hears me say “us.” He reaches out and pats me on the shoulder. “Alright,” he says, then stands. “In that case, we are very much in your debt, Mr. Lozhkin.”
“Please.” Yulian shakes his hand again. “Call me Yulian.”
“Yulian, then. Thank you for your kindness. I hope we’ll have a chance to meet again soon.” When I stand, too, he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You, too, baby girl.”
“We’ll make a date to meet the little one, yes?” Mom says, teary-eyed. “And when it’s time, the littler little one.”
“Of course,” I rasp. “Whenever you want.”
