Chapter 142: Begging Won’t Fix It
“What?” Lily and Elsie exclaimed in unison, both staring at Owen in shock. Lily’s voice trembled. “Which house are you selling?”
Owen replied, “Someone asked about the Saunders family mansion earlier. They offered seven million dollars. I didn’t deal.”
Lily nearly lost her footing. “Then where are we supposed to live…?”
“I’ve got a private property,” Owen said. “It’s more than enough for us to stay in.”
Yunice knew about that private property. It was in a remote area—he’d bought it as a vacation home by the sea, not somewhere fit for commuting or day-to-day life. The Saunders family mansion, on the other hand, sat on prime land. Property values in that area had only gone up over the years; that beach house couldn’t even compare.
Elsie had never expected that one fall would end with them losing their home. She threw herself at Owen, crying. “Owen, this is the foundation of the Saunders family—you can’t sell it!” Then she crawled on her knees to Yunice, grabbing at the hem of her pants and begging, “Yunice, Mr. Quinton came to you for help; that means you must be able to get this done! This is your home too; you don’t want to see it sold, do you?”
Yunice looked down at Elsie, who was groveling at her feet like she was begging for mercy. That was just how Elsie was—she could grovel and bounce back in an instant. No wonder Owen thought she was so considerate.
Lily’s eyes were red as she added, “When the day comes that you’re standing outside the door, staring at a house you know by heart but can’t step into, you’ll realize just how wrong today’s decision is!”
Yunice scoffed. “Is that so? Well. I’ve already felt that exact feeling, long ago.”
Lily and Owen both turned to look at her, confused. Yunice tilted her head slightly. “Take a good look at the scar on my face. Remember it now?”
Lily’s expression shifted. Most of Yunice’s facial scar had faded, but a trace of it still remained.
“You all went on vacation back then,” Yunice said, “Didn’t even bother to leave me a key. I called—none of you picked up, on purpose. I stood outside the Saunders mansion, looking at the door I’d lived behind for over ten years, and I couldn’t go. Now, it’s your turn to feel that.”
“You’re still holding onto that one little thing?” Owen shot up, furious, facing off against Yunice. “Does it make you happy to see everyone left without a roof over their heads?”
Yunice met his glare without flinching. “Shouldn’t the one to blame be Elsie—the one who stole my things and deliberately broke them?”
Owen’s face twisted in rage. “If you hadn’t made such a fuss, we wouldn’t be in this mess. This is all on you—you brought it on yourself!”
Yunice let out a cold laugh. “You think the cops care about your bluster, or about evidence?”
That bluster of his only ever worked on her; when it came to real consequences, Owen had no leg to stand on. He clearly understood that too. His face darkened, but he couldn’t deny it anymore—the only way out now was to sell the house.
Just as he was about to place the call, a voice came from outside. “Looks like I came at the right time—Ms. Saunders is home.”
Everyone turned toward the sound; Owen immediately canceled the call.
Quinton stepped into the Saunders living room with quiet authority, his gaze landing on the shattered jade bracelet in the corner. Lily moved to block his view—but it was too late. Quinton’s presence didn’t ease the tension; if anything, it made things heavier. Owen worried Quinton might hold them accountable, while Yunice feared something might go wrong with the situation.
Quinton froze for a beat, then quickly masked his expression. He turned to Yunice with a smile. “Ms. Saunders, you must be doing well—breaking a bracelet like that just for fun!”
Owen was about to speak up, but Yunice pointed straight at Elsie. “She did it.” Owen tried to cut her off, but Yunice went on, twisting the knife. “She said, why should Mr. Quinton only give me gifts and not her? If she couldn’t have it, she’d smash it!”
Owen’s eyes went wide. He had never seen Yunice lie so shamelessly. But she’d learned from the best—Elsie. Say whatever you want: there’s no evidence anyway. Who could prove Elsie hadn’t said that?
Elsie jumped in, panicked. “I didn’t—I didn’t say that—”
Before she could argue further, Gill came in clutch—pulled up Elsie’s burner account and held the phone out to Quinton. “Mr. Quinton, you’ve got a good eye, right? This social media post proves Elsie stole your bracelet!”
Elsie stomped her foot. “I told you, that was my friend—not me!”
Gill said, “Just because Owen’s blind doesn’t mean every man on earth is. Mr. Quinton, I can tell you’ve got great judgment.”