THE MAN WHO BOUGHT MY DAUGHTER’S HEART

The bedroom door violently swung open, slamming against the wall.

Richard stood in the doorway.

The mask of the grieving, loving father was completely gone. His face was twisted in a snarl of desperation. He held a heavy iron fireplace poker in his right hand.

“Where is the envelope?” Richard demanded, his eyes darting frantically around the room.

I shoved Marissa behind me, standing between her and her father.

“You broke into my home,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could, though my knees were shaking. “The police are already on their way.”

“Shut up!” Richard snapped, raising the iron poker slightly. “Graham double-crossed me. I watched him leave from the yard. He told me he left the envelope in here. Give it to me, Helen. Now.”

“There is no trust fund, Richard,” Marissa said from behind me. Her voice wasn’t trembling anymore. It was dead and cold.

Richard’s eyes snapped to her.

“What did you say to me?”

“I read the receipt,” Marissa stepped out from behind me, holding up the small piece of hospital stationery. “Grandpa didn’t leave me a fortune. He left this locket, and the proof of what you did. You stole the money meant to fix my face, didn’t you?”

Richard stared at the paper. For a second, he looked confused. Then, he let out a bitter, ugly laugh.

“That old bastard,” Richard muttered, running a hand through his gray hair. “He told me the box contained the access codes to an offshore account. He knew I’d come looking for it. He set a trap from the grave.”

“You ruined my childhood for fifty thousand dollars,” Marissa whispered, tears of pure anger welling in her eyes. “You let me grow up hating myself.”

“Oh, grow up, Marissa,” Richard sneered, stepping further into the room. “It’s a birthmark, not a terminal illness. I needed that money. I was in deep with people who would have broken my legs. I did what I had to do.”

“Get out of this house,” I yelled, grabbing a heavy brass lamp from the bedside table.

“Not until I tear this place apart,” Richard hissed. “If the money isn’t in the box, it’s hidden somewhere else. My father wouldn’t just leave a piece of paper!”

He lunged forward, grabbing my arm and throwing me hard against the wall.

The lamp crashed to the floor. I slumped down, my shoulder exploding in pain.

“Mom!” Marissa screamed.

Richard grabbed Marissa by the collar of her shirt, raising the iron poker.

“Where is the rest of his estate, you little brat?!”

Suddenly, a massive force slammed into Richard from the side.

Richard was thrown backward, crashing into the wooden dresser. The mirror shattered into a dozen pieces, raining glass over the floor.

Graham stood in the center of the room.

His shirt was torn, his knuckles were bleeding, and he was breathing heavily. He had come back.

“Don’t you ever touch her again,” Graham growled.

Richard scrambled to his feet, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek. He looked at Graham and smiled a wicked, terrifying smile.

“You idiot,” Richard spat. “You think playing the hero is going to make her forgive you? Tell them, Graham. Tell them the rest of it.”

Graham didn’t look away from Richard. He stood defensively in front of Marissa and me.

“Shut up, Richard.”

“No, no, let’s be honest,” Richard laughed, picking up the iron poker again. “Tell Marissa who I owed that fifty thousand dollars to all those years ago. Tell her who you really are.”

I looked up at Graham. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth would break.

“Graham?” Marissa asked, her voice trembling again. “What is he talking about?”

Richard pointed the iron poker at Graham.

“His name isn’t Graham. His name is Thomas Vance. His father is Marcus Vance. The loan shark I stole the money to pay back.”

The room started spinning.

“Graham’s father didn’t just hire him to marry you,” Richard smiled sadistically. “He sent his son to collect the debt I still owe. With interest. Your perfect fiancé is the son of a mobster.”

Graham finally turned to look at Marissa.

The shame in his eyes was absolute.