Mindy was speechless, giving him a look that said, “Seriously?” It seemed Lionel couldn’t praise someone without including himself.

By 1:00 pm, Paul was prepared to leave. Lionel, still working on the plants on the balcony, called out, “Mimi, walk your Uncle Paul out!”

Paul stumbled, his back stiffening at the remark.

Miranda quickly stood up from the sofa. “Dad, stop making me call him that! Dr. Jefferson, see you.”

“Alright,” Paul replied.

As Miranda escorted him to the door, Lionel muttered quietly, “I thought we’d agreed he’d be her uncle last time. Why is she reluctant now?”

After two weeks in Elgerson, Miranda thought it was finally time for Mindy to meet Warren.

“Mom, there’s actually another reason I asked you and Dad to come to Elgerson,” Miranda began.

“What is it?” Mindy asked, her curiosity piqued.

Miranda pulled out a file folder and slid it toward her. “This is the contract you signed with Edith. I asked you for the digital copy before, and I printed it out. I also had it reviewed by a professional publisher and an intellectual property lawyer.”

Mindy’s heart skipped a beat. She was feeling nervous.

Miranda gestured for her to open it. “The sections marked in red are all problematic. For example, this publishing house listed in the contract is actually controlled by Edith. It’s partially owned by her family—essentially a small publishing studio.”

It wasn’t even a legitimate publishing house.

A true publisher had proper credentials to issue books with official ISBNs, whereas this studio could only handle illustrated merchandise, audiobooks, and online digital content.

It was no wonder Mindy hadn’t had any formal book publications in the last ten years.

Was it because she couldn’t write? No. It was because Edith couldn’t get her work published.

That explained why every manuscript and outline Mindy submitted over the years was rejected.

“If she couldn’t handle the publishing, then why did she approach your mom and sign a contract in the first place? And for ten years at that?” Lionel asked, still calm but clearly puzzled.

Back then, Edith had given Mindy a considerable signing bonus—200 thousand dollars after taxes. That was a substantial amount a decade ago.

If she didn’t see any future profit, why would she pay such a large sum upfront?

“That’s the second major trap in this contract,” Miranda explained. “Mom, keep flipping through; it’s marked in red on page three.”

Lionel read aloud, “From the date of signing, all rights to works previously published by Party A will be managed by Party B. The profit-sharing ratio is detailed in the appendix… Where’s the appendix?”

Miranda shook her head. “There isn’t one.”

Lionel was shocked.

In other words, the contract didn’t specify the profit-sharing ratio for Mindy’s previously published works. Edith could choose to give her the full share or absolutely nothing at all.

“I’ve only received royalty payments five times in the past ten years,” Mindy said, her voice trembling. “The highest amount was 80 thousand, and the lowest was just five thousand.”

Miranda had expected as much. Though painful, it was crucial for Mindy to face the truth. “I checked the domestic book sales rankings over the past decade. Both ‘Murder Weapon’ and ‘The Deserted School’ have consistently ranked in the top 20.”

“I know that,” Mindy said. “I even asked Edith about it, but she claimed the publishing market had shrunk recently. She even said that overall book sales were down, so the royalties had naturally decreased.”

“There’s some truth to that,” Miranda acknowledged. “The domestic publishing industry has indeed faced a downturn in recent years, and it’s certainly impacted earnings. But did she ever mention the overseas sales for ‘Murder Weapon’ and ‘The Deserted School’?”