Chapter 42
title: "Chapter 14" wordCount: 5822
I grabbed the nearest thing—a ceramic mixing bowl from the counter—and hurled it toward the silhouette.
The bowl shattered against the doorframe. The figure didn't flinch.
"Nora, don't—" Daniel's voice came from somewhere behind me, but I was already moving, my hand finding the knife block on the counter, fingers closing around a handle.
The overhead lights flickered once, twice, then blazed back to life.
Richard Park stood in our doorway, one hand still on the knob, the other holding a key ring. He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my entire month's rent, and his expression held the kind of mild amusement you'd reserve for a child's tantrum.
"Well," he said, brushing ceramic dust from his sleeve. "That's one way to greet family."
My hand was still on the knife. Daniel appeared beside me, his body angled between his uncle and me, one hand reaching back to touch my wrist—not to take the knife away, just to ground me.
"How did you get a key?" Daniel's voice was flat, empty of inflection.
"I own the building, kiddo. I have keys to every unit." Richard stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click that made my stomach clench. "Though I have to say, the security in this place is top-notch. Very difficult to bypass. Unless, of course, you have the master access codes, which I do, because again—I own the building."
He moved into the living room like he belonged there, like he hadn't just broken into our home in the middle of a power outage that he'd probably orchestrated. The jade bracelet on my wrist felt suddenly heavy, my grandmother's voice in my head: When a man shows you who he is, believe him the first time.
"You need to leave." I kept my voice steady, kept my hand on the knife. "Now."
Richard settled onto our couch—our couch, the one Daniel and I had picked out together at IKEA, arguing about whether the Kivik or the Ektorp had better back support—and crossed one leg over the other. "There's nothing to be gained from hostility, Nora. May I call you Nora? I feel like we're past formalities at this point."
"There's nothing to be gained from you being here." Daniel's hand was still on my wrist, his thumb moving in small circles against my pulse point. "Say what you came to say and get out."
"Direct. I appreciate that." Richard pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, then held it up. The photo from earlier filled the display—Daniel and me on the couch, his hand in my hair, my face turned toward his. "This is a good shot, wouldn't you agree? The lighting is particularly flattering. Though I have to say, the ones from last week are even better. The ones where you're both clearly sleeping in separate rooms."
My fingers tightened on the knife handle. Daniel's thumb stopped moving.
"See, here's the thing about immigration fraud investigations." Richard set his phone on the coffee table, screen up, the photo still visible. "They're incredibly thorough. They interview neighbors, they check utility bills, they examine bank statements. They look at everything. And when they find inconsistencies—well, let's just say the penalties are severe. Deportation for the foreign national, obviously. But also criminal charges for the U.S. citizen. Fines up to $250,000. Prison time up to five years."
"We're not—" I started, but Daniel's hand tightened on my wrist.
"Let him finish," Daniel said quietly.
Richard smiled. The expression didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not here to threaten you, kiddo. I'm here to offer you a solution. A way out of this mess you've created."
"What mess?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "We're married. We live together. We—"
"You run a failing catering business that's hemorrhaging money every month." Richard leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Your parents declared bankruptcy three years ago, leaving you with approximately $47,000 in personal debt that you've been servicing with credit cards and personal loans. You work sixteen-hour days and still can't make rent without Daniel's help. And Daniel—" He turned his attention to his nephew. "Daniel has been funneling money from his trust fund into your business account, trying to keep you afloat. Very noble. Very stupid."
The apartment felt too small suddenly, the walls pressing in. Daniel's hand slipped from my wrist.
"How do you—" I couldn't finish the sentence.
"I make it my business to know things." Richard picked up his phone, swiped to another photo. This one showed a bank statement—my bank statement, with Daniel's deposits highlighted in yellow. "Especially when my nephew is about to throw away his future for a girl he barely knows."
"That's enough." Daniel's voice was still quiet, but something had shifted in it, something cold and sharp. "You've made your point. Now make your offer and leave."
Richard stood, buttoning his suit jacket with practiced ease. "The offer is simple. You divorce Nora. Quietly, amicably. I'll make sure the immigration investigation goes away—I have contacts at USCIS who owe me favors. I'll also pay off Nora's debts in full and provide her with a business loan at zero interest to get her catering company back on track. In exchange, you come work for me at Park Industries. VP of Operations. $300,000 base salary plus bonuses. You'll start next month."
The number hung in the air between us. Three hundred thousand dollars. More than I'd make in five years, maybe ten. Enough to save my business, pay off my debts, give my parents some breathing room.
Enough to make me disappear from Daniel's life.
"And if we refuse?" Daniel asked.
"Then the immigration agents will receive a very detailed dossier tomorrow morning. Photos, bank statements, neighbor testimonies—I've already spoken to Mrs. Chen on the fourth floor, lovely woman, very chatty about how she never sees you two together. The investigation will take months, maybe years. During that time, Nora won't be able to work legally. Her business will collapse. And when it's all over, she'll be deported anyway, and you'll have a criminal record that will follow you for the rest of your life."
My grandmother's bracelet dug into my wrist. I thought about the lunch boxes I'd been packing for Daniel every morning, the way he always texted me photos of the empty containers with a simple "thank you." I thought about his hand in my hair on the couch, the way he'd said he wouldn't be pretending.
I thought about how none of it mattered if we were both going to prison.
"I need to think about it," I said.
"No." Daniel's voice cut through the room. "The answer is no."
Richard raised an eyebrow. "That's not a smart decision, kiddo."
"I don't care." Daniel moved to stand beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. "We're not doing this. Not your way."
"Then you're doing it the hard way." Richard walked to the door, paused with his hand on the knob. "You have until tomorrow morning to change your mind. After that, the dossier goes to USCIS, and we let the chips fall where they may. Sleep on it. I think you'll find that love—or whatever you want to call this arrangement—isn't worth destroying your entire future."
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
The silence that followed felt like a physical weight. I set the knife down on the counter, my hand shaking now that the adrenaline was fading. Daniel stood perfectly still beside me, his mouth tightened so tight I could see the muscle jumping.
"Okay so," I said, then stopped, because I had no idea what came after that. "Okay so we need to—"
"I'm not taking his offer." Daniel turned to face me, and something in his expression made my breath catch. "I don't care what he threatens. I'm not doing it."
"Daniel, that's—let's just think about this for a second, right?" My voice was climbing, panic threading through it. "He has everything. Photos, bank statements, neighbor testimonies. If he sends that to immigration—"
"Then we deal with it."
"Deal with it? Daniel, you could go to prison. I could get deported. My business would—" I couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't say out loud what would happen to everything I'd built.
"Your business is already failing." His voice was gentle, but the words hit like a slap. "You work sixteen hours a day and you're still drowning. Maybe it's time to—"
"To what? Give up?" The anger came fast and hot, burning through the fear. "Let your uncle buy me off like I'm some kind of—what, exactly? A problem to be solved? A mistake you made that needs to be cleaned up?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" I was shouting now, my voice echoing off the walls. "Because it sounds like you're saying I should take his money and disappear. Make it easy for everyone."
Daniel's hands curled into fists at his sides. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I meant that maybe you deserve better than this. Better than a fake marriage and a husband who can't even protect you from his own family."
The words hung between us, sharp and raw.
I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I wanted to tell him that the marriage might have started fake but somewhere along the way—between the lunch boxes and the late-night conversations and his hand in my hair—it had become something else. Something real.
But the bank statements on Richard's phone flashed through my mind. Daniel had been paying my bills. Keeping me afloat. And I'd been so focused on pretending to be in love that I hadn't noticed I'd become exactly what Richard said I was: a burden.
"I need some air." I grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door, shoved my arms through the sleeves.
"Nora, wait—"
"I just need to think, okay? I need to—" I couldn't finish. The apartment felt too small, too full of Richard's threats and Daniel's pity and my own crushing failure.
I was out the door before Daniel could stop me, taking the stairs two at a time because I couldn't stand still, couldn't be in that apartment for one more second. The night air hit my face, cold and sharp, and I walked without direction, my feet carrying me down familiar streets while my mind spun in circles.
Three hundred thousand dollars. Zero interest loan. My debts erased like they'd never existed.
All I had to do was walk away from Daniel.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting Daniel, but the number was unknown.
Did you like my visit? Your husband is smarter than I thought—he actually said no. But you're the practical one, aren't you, Nora? You know how to cut your losses. The offer expires at 9 AM tomorrow. After that, I make the call. Choose wisely. —R
I stared at the message, my grandmother's bracelet cold against my wrist. Richard had my number. Had probably had it for weeks, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike.
Another text came through, this one with an attachment. I opened it before I could stop myself.
It was a photo of my parents' house. Recent, taken maybe today. My mother was visible through the kitchen window, washing dishes, her shoulders curved in that defeated way she'd carried herself since the bankruptcy.
The caption below read: They've been through enough, don't you think?
My hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped the phone. He was threatening my parents now. Not just me, not just Daniel, but my parents who'd already lost everything once.
I turned around, started walking back toward the apartment. I needed to tell Daniel. We needed to figure this out together, needed to—
A car pulled up beside me, black sedan with tinted windows. The back door opened.
"Get in, Nora." Richard's voice came from inside the car. "We need to talk. Just you and me. No Daniel to play hero. No more games."
Every instinct screamed at me to run. But the photo of my mother was still on my phone screen, and Richard's expression through the open door was patient, expectant.
Like he knew exactly what I would do.
I looked back toward the apartment, toward Daniel, toward the life we'd built on lies and lunch boxes and something that might have been real if we'd had more time.
Then I got in the car.
The sedan smelled like leather and expensive cologne. Richard sat across from me, separated by enough space to feel deliberate. The driver pulled away from the curb before I could change my mind, and I watched through the window as our apartment building disappeared behind us.
"Where are we going?" My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
"Nowhere in particular. I find that conversations are more productive when people aren't worried about being overheard." Richard pulled out a tablet, tapped the screen. "I want to show you something."
The screen filled with a video. Security footage, judging by the angle and timestamp. It showed Daniel in what looked like an office, talking to someone off-camera. The date was from six months ago, before we'd gotten married.
Richard turned up the volume.
"—can't keep doing this," Daniel's voice came through tinny but clear. "Every time I try to build something, you tear it down. Every relationship, every job, every—"
"Every mistake," Richard's voice interrupted. "I'm trying to protect you from yourself, kiddo. You have a pattern. You fall for the wrong people, you make impulsive decisions, and then I have to clean up the mess."
"Nora isn't a mess."
My breath caught. This was before. Before we'd even met, before the arrangement, before everything.
"Nora Chen is drowning in debt with a failing business and parents who can't help her," Richard said on the video. "She's exactly the kind of person who would jump at a green card marriage. And you're exactly the kind of person who would convince yourself it's love."
Daniel's face on the screen was hard to read. "You don't know her."
"I know her type. I know what she needs. And I know that six months from now, when the novelty wears off and reality sets in, you'll realize I was right." Richard leaned forward in the video, his expression almost gentle. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm trying to save you from another mistake."
The video ended. Richard set the tablet down between us.
"That conversation happened the day after you two met at that wedding," he said. "Daniel came to me, told me about this amazing woman he'd met, how she was different from everyone else. How he wanted to help her. I warned him then what would happen. He didn't listen."
My throat felt tight. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because I want you to understand something." Richard's voice was almost kind, which somehow made it worse. "Daniel doesn't love you. He loves the idea of saving you. It's what he does—he finds broken things and tries to fix them. His ex-girlfriend was an addict. The one before that was in an abusive relationship. And now you—drowning in debt, desperate for a green card. You're just the latest project."
"That's not—" But I couldn't finish, because part of me wondered if he was right.
The lunch boxes. The money transfers. The way Daniel always seemed to know what I needed before I asked. Was that love, or was that just him playing hero?
"I'm not the villain here, Nora." Richard pulled out a check, already filled out, and set it on the seat between us. Three hundred thousand dollars, made out to me. "I'm offering you a way out. Take the money, divorce Daniel, start fresh. He'll be hurt for a while, but he'll move on. He always does. And you'll have the resources to build the life you actually want, not the one you settled for because you were desperate."
The check sat between us like a test. I thought about my parents, about the photo of my mother in the kitchen. I thought about Daniel's hand in my hair, the way he'd said he wouldn't be pretending.
I thought about the video, about Richard knowing about me before we'd even gotten married.
"How long have you been planning this?" My voice came out hoarse.
"Since the beginning." Richard didn't look apologetic. "I knew Daniel would do something impulsive. I knew you'd need money. I knew that eventually, you'd both realize this arrangement was a mistake. I'm just accelerating the inevitable."
The car slowed, pulling up to a curb. I looked out the window and realized we were back at the apartment building. The whole conversation had taken maybe fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours.
"Think about it," Richard said. "You have until nine AM. After that, I make the call, and everyone loses. Or you take the check, and everyone wins. Well—" He smiled. "Everyone except Daniel. But he'll survive. He always does."
I got out of the car without taking the check. My legs felt unsteady, my mind spinning with everything Richard had said. The sedan pulled away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the apartment windows.
The lights were on. Daniel was up there, probably pacing, probably worried.
Probably planning how to save me.
I pulled out my phone, started to text him, then stopped. What would I even say? Your uncle showed me a video of you talking about me before we met, and now I don't know if anything between us is real?
My finger hovered over the call button. Then I saw the notification at the top of the screen.
New email. From USCIS.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Dear Mrs. Park, This is to inform you that your case has been flagged for investigation due to credible evidence of marriage fraud. You are required to appear for an interview at our offices tomorrow at 10 AM. Failure to appear will result in immediate deportation proceedings. Please bring your spouse and all relevant documentation.
The timestamp showed it had been sent five minutes ago. While I was in the car with Richard.
He'd already made the call.
The offer had been a lie. The deadline had been a lie. He'd sent the dossier the moment I got in his car, probably the moment Daniel refused him in the apartment.
I was staring at the email, my vision blurring, when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Nora." Daniel's voice, breathless like he'd been running. "I saw you get out of the car. What did he—" He stopped, seeing my face. "What happened?"
I held up my phone, showed him the email. Watched his expression shift from concern to understanding to something harder, colder.
"He already sent it," Daniel said quietly. "The interview tomorrow—that's not a threat. It's already happening."
"He showed me a video." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Of you, six months ago, talking about me. About how I was drowning in debt and desperate and exactly the kind of person who would jump at a green card marriage."
Daniel went very still. "Nora—"
"Were you planning this from the beginning?" My voice cracked. "Did you see me at that wedding and think, 'there's a project, there's someone I can save'?"
"No. God, no." He reached for me, but I stepped back. "I met you and I thought—I thought you were the most interesting person I'd ever talked to. The way you explained the chemistry of caramelization like it was magic, the way you laughed at my terrible jokes. I went to Richard because I wanted advice on how to ask you out properly, and he—" Daniel's mouth tightened. "He warned me off. Said you were trouble. Said I had a pattern of falling for people who needed saving."
"Do you?" The question came out smaller than I intended. "Have a pattern?"
Daniel was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was raw. "Yeah. I do. My ex-girlfriend, Sarah—she was using, and I thought if I just loved her enough, supported her enough, she'd get clean. She didn't. She stole from me, lied to me, and when I finally ended it, Richard said 'I told you so' for six months straight. And before that, there was Michelle, who was in an abusive relationship, and I thought—" He stopped, pressed her lips together. "I thought I could be the good guy. The one who showed her what real love looked like. But she went back to him anyway."
My chest felt tight. "So I'm just another—"
"No." Daniel closed the distance between us, his hands coming up to frame my face. "You're not another anything. Yes, I have a pattern. Yes, I tend to fall for people who need help. But Nora—" His thumbs brushed my cheekbones, and I realized I was crying. "You're not broken. Your business is struggling, yeah. You have debt, yeah. But you're not drowning. You're fighting. Every single day, you get up and you fight for what you want. You don't need me to save you. You never did."
"Then why did you marry me?" The question I'd been afraid to ask since the beginning.
"Because you asked me to." His voice was simple, honest. "Because you had a plan and you needed a partner, and I wanted to be that for you. And because somewhere between the wedding and now, I fell in love with the way you hum while you cook, and the way you always pack extra dessert in my lunch box, and the way you argue with me about whether MSG is actually bad for you—"
"It's not," I said automatically.
"I know. You've told me seventeen times." A smile flickered across his face, then faded. "I fell in love with you, Nora. Not the idea of you. Not the project of you. You."
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.
But Richard's voice was in my head: He loves the idea of saving you.
And the email was still on my phone: You are required to appear for an interview.
And my parents' house was still in Richard's photos, my mother still washing dishes with her defeated shoulders.
"The interview is tomorrow at ten," I said, pulling back from Daniel's hands. "We have—" I checked my phone. "Fourteen hours to figure out how to convince immigration agents that our marriage is real."
"Okay." Daniel's voice was steady, controlled. "Okay, we can do this. We'll prepare, we'll practice our story, we'll—"
"Daniel." I looked up at him, at this man who'd married me for reasons I still didn't fully understand, who'd been paying my bills without telling me, who'd just confessed he loved me in the middle of the worst night of my life. "What if we can't?"
He didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet but certain. "Then we go down fighting. Together."
My phone buzzed. Another text from the unknown number.
Still time to take the deal. Check's still good until 9 AM. After the interview, the offer disappears. Your choice. —R
I showed Daniel the message. He read it, his expression hardening.
"He's giving you an out," Daniel said. "Even now. Even after sending the dossier."
"Yeah." My voice was hollow.
"Are you going to take it?"
The question hung between us. I thought about the check in Richard's car, about three hundred thousand dollars and a fresh start. I thought about my parents, about my failing business, about everything I stood to lose.
I thought about Daniel's hand in my hair, about lunch boxes and late-night conversations and the way he'd said my name like it mattered.
"I don't know," I whispered.
Daniel's face did something complicated, something that looked like understanding and heartbreak mixed together. "Okay," he said. "Okay, that's—that's fair."
We stood there on the sidewalk, the city humming around us, the interview looming fourteen hours away.
Then Daniel's phone rang.
He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and went pale.
"What?" I asked. "Who is it?"
"It's my mother." His voice was strange, distant. "She never calls. Not since—" He answered, putting it on speaker. "Mom?"
"Daniel." Her voice was tight, controlled. "I just got a very interesting call from your uncle. He says you've gotten yourself into some trouble. Immigration trouble."
Daniel's mouth tightened. "It's handled."
"Is it? Because Richard seems to think you're about to throw away your entire future for a girl you barely know. A girl who's using you for a green card."
"That's not—" Daniel started, but his mother cut him off.
"I'm flying in tonight. I'll be there by morning. We're going to fix this, Daniel. As a family." She paused. "And Daniel? Bring your wife. I'd very much like to meet her before she destroys your life."
The line went dead.
Daniel stared at his phone, his face unreadable.
"Your mother," I said slowly. "The one you haven't spoken to in—how long?"
"Three years." His voice was flat. "Not since I refused to join the family business. Not since I told her I wanted to build something of my own."
"And now she's coming here. Tomorrow. Before the interview."
"Yeah."
We looked at each other. The interview at ten AM. Richard's deadline at nine. And now Daniel's mother arriving sometime before both.
"Okay so," I said, then stopped, because there was no way to finish that sentence that didn't end in disaster.
Daniel's phone buzzed with a text. He looked at it, and something in his expression shifted.
"What?" I asked.
He turned the phone toward me. The message was from his mother, sent to a group chat that included Richard and several other numbers I didn't recognize.
Family meeting. 7 AM. Daniel's apartment. Everyone will be there. We're going to settle this once and for all.
Below it, Richard had responded: Perfect. I'll bring the dossier.
And below that, another number—Daniel's father, maybe?—had added: About time we dealt with this situation.
I looked up at Daniel. "Your whole family is coming here. In—" I checked the time. "Nine hours."
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, and for the first time since I'd known him, he looked completely lost. "Yeah, they are."
"What do we do?"
Daniel was quiet for a long moment. Then he looked at me, and something in his expression made my breath catch.
"We tell them the truth," he said.
"The truth?" My voice climbed. "Daniel, the truth is that our marriage is fake, that we've been lying to everyone, that—"
"No." He stepped closer, his hands finding mine. "The truth is that our marriage started as an arrangement, but it became something real. The truth is that I love you, and I don't care if my family believes it or not. The truth is that we're in this together, and we're going to face whatever comes next as partners. Real partners."
I stared at him, my blood pounding against my ribs. "And if they don't believe us? If the immigration agents don't believe us? If—"
"Then at least we'll know we tried." His thumbs brushed across my knuckles. "At least we'll know it was real."
My phone buzzed again. Another email, this one from an address I didn't recognize.
I opened it, and my blood went cold.
It was a photo. Taken tonight, through our apartment window. Daniel and me on the couch, before Richard arrived. His hand in my hair, my face turned toward his.
But this photo was different from the one Richard had shown us. This one was zoomed in, focused on our faces. On the expression in Daniel's eyes as he looked at me.
On the way I was looking back.
Below the photo, a single line of text:
This is what real looks like. Don't let them take it from you.
No signature. No name. Just the photo and the message.
I showed Daniel. He stared at it, his expression unreadable.
"Who sent this?" I whispered.
"I don't know." His voice was tight. "But whoever it is, they've been watching us. They have access to the same surveillance Richard does. They—"
His phone rang again. Unknown number this time.
Daniel answered, putting it on speaker. "Hello?"
"Daniel Park." The voice was male, unfamiliar, with a slight accent I couldn't place. "You don't know me, but I know you. I know what your uncle is doing. I know about the dossier, the threats, the interview tomorrow."
"Who is this?" Daniel's voice was hard.
"Someone who has a vested interest in seeing Richard Park fail." A pause. "I can help you. But you need to trust me."
"Why would we trust you?" I asked.
"Because I'm the one who sent you that photo. Because I've been documenting Richard's activities for months. And because I have evidence—real evidence—that can prove your marriage is legitimate. Evidence that will stand up in immigration court."
Daniel and I looked at each other. "What kind of evidence?" Daniel asked.
"The kind that shows Richard has been manipulating you both from the beginning. The kind that proves he's been surveilling you illegally, threatening you, coercing you. The kind that will get him arrested and get your case dismissed." Another pause. "But I need something from you first."
"What?" My voice was barely above a whisper.
"I need you to wear a wire to the family meeting tomorrow. I need you to get Richard to confess on tape. And I need you to trust that I'm on your side."
The line went dead.
Daniel and I stood there, staring at his phone, the weight of everything pressing down on us.
The interview at ten. The family meeting at seven. Richard's deadline at nine. And now a mysterious stranger offering help in exchange for—what? Trust?
"This is insane," I said.
"Yeah." Daniel's voice was hollow.
"We don't even know who that was. They could be working with Richard. They could be—"
"I know."
"But if they're telling the truth—if they really have evidence—"
"I know."
We stood there in the darkness, the city humming around us, our entire future balanced on a knife's edge.
Then Daniel's phone buzzed one more time.
A text from the unknown number. Just an address and a time: 6 AM. Come alone. Both of you.
I looked up at Daniel, at this man I'd married for convenience and fallen for despite every logical reason not to.
"What do we do?" I whispered.
Daniel's hand tightened around mine. "We go," he said. "We meet this person. We get the evidence. And then we face my family and tell them the truth."
"And if it's a trap?"
His eyes met mine, dark and certain. "Then we spring it together."
My phone buzzed. Another email from USCIS, this one with an attachment.
I opened it with shaking hands.
It was a list. Names, dates, bank transactions. All the evidence Richard had compiled against us, now officially part of our immigration file.
And at the bottom, a note from the case officer assigned to our interview:
Mrs. Park, I've reviewed your file. I have significant concerns about the legitimacy of your marriage. Please be prepared to answer detailed questions about your relationship tomorrow. Bring all documentation. This interview will determine whether deportation proceedings will begin immediately.
I showed Daniel. He read it, his face going pale.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay, so we're out of time. We're out of options. We—"
A knock on the apartment building's front door made us both jump.
Through the glass, I could see a figure. Female, tall, wearing an expensive coat.
Daniel's face went white. "That's my mother," he said. "She wasn't supposed to be here until morning. She—"
The woman pushed open the door—it wasn't locked, the building's security was a joke—and stepped into the lobby.
She was beautiful in that severe, controlled way that came from money and power. Her hair was pulled back in a perfect chignon, her makeup flawless despite the late hour. She looked at Daniel, then at me, and her expression was cold enough to freeze blood.
"Daniel," she said. "We need to talk. Now."
"Mom, it's late. We can—"
"Now, Daniel." Her eyes cut to me. "And you must be Nora. The girl who's been lying to immigration about being in love with my son."
My mouth went dry. "I—"
"Save it." She pulled out her phone, showed us the screen. It was the same dossier Richard had, the same photos, the same evidence. "Richard sent this to me an hour ago. He's been very thorough. Very convincing. And now I'm here to clean up this mess before it destroys my son's life."
She stepped closer, and I could smell her perfume—something expensive and sharp.
"So here's what's going to happen," she said, her voice calm and controlled. "You're going to take Richard's money. You're going to divorce my son. And you're going to disappear. Tonight. Before the interview. Before this gets any worse."
"No," Daniel said.
His mother's eyes snapped to him. "Excuse me?"
"I said no." Daniel moved to stand beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. "Nora isn't going anywhere. We're married. We're staying married. And we're going to that interview tomorrow and telling them the truth."
"The truth?" His mother's laugh was cold. "The truth is that you married a stranger to help her get a green card. The truth is that you've been lying to everyone, including yourself. The truth is that this girl is using you, and you're too blind to see it."
"That's not—" I started, but she cut me off.
"How much debt are you in, Nora? Fifty thousand? Sixty? How much of Daniel's money have you taken? How much more were you planning to take before you disappeared?"
"I didn't take anything," I said, my voice shaking. "Daniel offered to help, I didn't ask—"
"You didn't have to ask. That's how girls like you operate. You find a nice boy with money and a savior complex, and you let him rescue you. And when he's given you everything you need, you move on to the next one."
The words hit like physical blows. I wanted to argue, wanted to defend myself, but part of me wondered if she was right. Had I been using Daniel? Had I let him pay my bills and fix my problems because it was easier than facing them myself?
"That's enough." Daniel's voice was hard, cold. "You don't know her. You don't know anything about our relationship."
"I know enough." His mother pulled out a check—another check, this one for even more than Richard's. "Five hundred thousand