The refrigerator was empty. My wife’s hands were trembling. And upstairs, my daughter was livestreaming her new designer bag, bought with the money meant for food. “Dad won’t do anything,” Mia whispered to her boyfriend.

is my house.”

She laughed bitterly. “Actually, you put most things in Mom’s name for tax reasons, remember? And she’s not exactly sharp lately.”

Elena’s hand tightened around mine.

There it was.

The real plan.

Over the next two days, I became exactly what Mia expected: harmless, distracted, overly trusting.

While she kept partying upstairs, I worked quietly continue reading …