On My Birthday, My Parents Organized A Family Dinner With 100 Relatives Just To Publicly Disown

He opened the safe and started stuffing stacks of cash into a duffel bag.

«The church money?» Crystal asked, giggling. «You’re bad.»

«It’s my money now,» Hunter said, tossing in a handful of watches. «That family is a sinking ship, Crystal. Tiana is coming for them. And she’s smarter than I thought. But she’s too slow. By the time she figures out I’m the one draining the accounts, we’ll be sipping Mai Tais on a private beach. Let the old man rot in prison. Let Bianca cry to her followers. I’m out.»

I watched him. I recorded every frame. Every pixel. The way his lip curled when he talked about my father. The way he dismissed my sister like she was garbage. The glee in his eyes as he bragged about stealing money meant for orphans and widows.

«Got you,» I whispered.

I saved the video file. I trimmed it. I enhanced the audio to make sure every word was crystal clear. Old man Marcus is stupid. Screw my wife. I’m taking everything. It was perfect. It was the nail in the coffin.

I checked the time. It was 11:30. My mother, Serena, had a standing appointment every Saturday morning at the Buckhead Spa and Wellness Center. She would be in the relaxation lounge right now, wrapped in a plush robe, drinking cucumber water, trying to convince herself that everything was fine, that her perfect life wasn’t disintegrating around her.

I pulled up her contact info. I composed a new text message. I didn’t write any words. Words were unnecessary. I just attached the video file.

Subject: Your retirement plan.

I hit send.

I switched my monitor feed. I didn’t have cameras in the spa, obviously, but I had hacked the security feed of the lobby reception area, which had a clear view of the relaxation lounge glass doors. I saw Serena sitting on a chaise lounge. She looked aged. Her face was drawn. Her shoulders slumped.

She picked up her phone when it chimed. She frowned. She tapped the screen. I watched her body language. She froze. Her hand went to her mouth. She stood up so abruptly she knocked over her cucumber water. She stared at the phone, shaking her head violently as if trying to deny what her eyes were seeing and her ears were hearing.

Then she screamed. It wasn’t a scream of anger. It was a scream of pure, unadulterated devastation. It was the sound of a woman watching her future evaporate. She collapsed. Her knees just gave out. She hit the floor in a heap of white terrycloth. Staff members came running. Other patrons stood up, alarmed.

I watched the chaos for a moment. I watched them fan her face. I watched them call for water. I felt a twinge of pity. Just a twinge. It was small and faint like a dying ember. She was my mother. She had given birth to me. But she had also thrown me away. She had sided with the wolf because she liked the fur coat he promised her. Now the wolf had bitten her hand off.

I turned back to the screen showing Hunter. He was whistling as he packed his bag, oblivious to the fact that his escape route had just been detonated. He thought he was the player. He didn’t realize he was just another piece on my board.

I picked up my phone and dialed Agent Miller.

«He’s packing,» I said. «He’s heading to the airport in an hour. He just confessed to wire fraud and money laundering on tape. I sent you the file.»

«Received,» Miller said, his voice crisp. «We are moving in. Do you want us to take him at the office?»

«No,» I said, watching Hunter zip up the duffel bag full of stolen cash. «Let him get to the car. Let him think he made it. I want the takedown to be public. I want him to feel the hope die.»

«Understood,» Miller said. «And Tiana? Nice work.»

I hung up. I poured myself another cup of coffee. The caffeine hummed in my veins. Two down, one to go.

My father, Marcus, was currently at the church preparing his sermon for tomorrow. He was probably praying for a miracle. He was probably praying for the land sale to go through. He had no idea that his wife was unconscious on a spa floor, that his son-in-law was about to be tackled by the FBI, and that his bank account was currently being frozen by the federal government.

He wanted a miracle. I was going to give him a revelation.

I opened the file labeled Sunday Service. I checked the projector schematics for the church sanctuary. I checked the audio system access codes. I checked the schedule.

Tomorrow morning at 10 a.m., Bishop Marcus Jenkins was going to preach about forgiveness. I was going to preach about retribution. And I wasn’t going to need a microphone.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital recovery room hummed with a sound that felt like a drill boring directly into my mother’s skull. Serena Jenkins opened her eyes, and for a merciful second, she didn’t remember. She stared at the acoustic ceiling tiles and wondered why the Egyptian cotton sheets of her bed felt so scratchy and smelled like antiseptic.

Then the memory of the video crashed into her mind with the force of a freight train. Hunter. The safe. The cash. The laughter. Screw my wife. I’m taking everything.

She sat up so fast that the heart monitor screamed in protest. Her purse was on the bedside table. She grabbed it, dumping the contents onto the stiff hospital blanket until she found her phone. Her hands were shaking so violently she dropped it twice before she could unlock the screen.

She dialed Hunter. Straight to voicemail. She dialed the offshore banker in the Caymans, a number Hunter had given her for emergencies only. The number you have dialed is no longer in service.

She logged into the joint bank app. The one that was supposed to hold the church building fund and their retirement savings.

Balance: $0.00.

Pending Transaction: Wire Transfer to HV Global. Status: Completed.

A guttural sound escaped her throat, a noise somewhere between a sob and a wretch. He had done it. The man she had paraded around the country club, the son-in-law she had praised while spitting on her own daughter—he had picked them clean. The villa in Nice was gone. The yacht was gone. The mansion would be foreclosed on in a month.

She was 58 years old, and she was destitute. Panic clawed at her throat. She needed Marcus. Surely Marcus had a backup plan. Surely the Bishop had a rainy day fund hidden in a hollowed-out Bible somewhere.

She called her husband. «Marcus, pick up,» she whispered, her voice raspy. «Pick up, pick up, pick up.»

«What is it, Serena?» Marcus’s voice barked through the phone. He sounded out of breath, frantic. «I am busy. The deacons are asking questions about the building fund. I need Hunter to send over the ledger.»

«Hunter is gone, Marcus!» Serena screamed into the phone, hysteria taking over. «He’s gone. He took the money. He took all of it. The safe is empty. The accounts are zero. I saw a video, Marcus. Tiana sent me a video. He laughed at us. He called you an old fool.»

«Stop it,» Marcus snapped. «Stop being hysterical. Hunter wouldn’t do that. He’s family. Tiana is lying. It’s a deepfake or whatever they call it. She’s trying to confuse you.»

«It wasn’t a fake,» Serena sobbed. «I checked the bank, Marcus. The money is gone. We are broke. We are going to prison.»

There was a silence on the line so profound it felt like the phone had died. Then Marcus spoke, his voice low and dangerous.

«If the money is gone, then we have only one option left. We need that land. We need to sell that land to the developers by Monday or we are finished. Get Tiana on the phone. Now.»

«She blocked me,» Serena cried. «She won’t talk to me.»

«Use a hospital phone,» Marcus ordered. «Play the victim. Tell her you’re dying. I don’t care what you say. Just get her to the church tomorrow. If I can get her in front of the congregation, I can break her. I can make her sign. Do it, Serena. Or don’t bother coming home.»

The line went dead. Serena stared at the phone. Her husband didn’t care that she had fainted. He didn’t care that their life was over. He only cared about the deal. She looked at the hospital room phone on the wall. It was her last play. Her Hail Mary.

I sat in my penthouse office watching the sun dip below the Atlanta skyline, turning the glass buildings into pillars of fire. My phone rang.

Unknown Number. Location: Grady Memorial Hospital.

I knew who it was. I had been waiting for this call. I picked up.

«Hello?»

«Tiana…» The voice on the other end was broken, unrecognizable. It was the sound of a woman who had looked into the abyss and found it staring back. «Tiana, baby. It’s Mom.»

«Hello, Serena,» I said, my voice cool and even.

«Please don’t hang up,» Serena begged. She was weeping openly now—loud, wet sobs that echoed in the hospital room. «You were right. You were right about everything. Hunter. He’s a devil. He took the money, Tiana. He took the building fund. He took Dad’s pension. He left us with nothing.»

«I know,» I said, taking a sip of sparkling water. «I watched him do it.»

«Help us,» Serena pleaded. «Please, Tiana. You have money. You have connections. You can stop him. You can get the money back. We are your parents. We raised you. You can’t let us end up on the street. Dad is talking about selling the house, but it won’t be enough to cover the debts. They’ll arrest him, Tiana. They’ll arrest your father.»