Chapter 3

Desperation is a sharp, ugly motivator. I spent the next two days calling every friend and acquaintance I could think of, begging for a loan. The rejections were polite but firm. No one wanted to get between Matthew Scott and his wife.

Finally, I remembered an old college classmate, Mark. He was in finance now, always flashing his wealth on social media. I sent him a message, explaining the situation.

He replied almost immediately. "Jocelyn, of course. Anything for you. Let's meet tonight. We'll sort it out."

He named a high-end steakhouse in Dallas, the kind of place Matthew loved. I should have known.

When I arrived, he wasn't at a table. A waiter led me to a private VIP lounge in the back. Mark was there, a predatory smile on his face. The room was dimly lit, the door closing with a heavy click behind me.

"I knew you'd come," he said, pouring two glasses of whiskey. "Matthew told me you'd be desperate."

My blood ran cold. "Matthew?"

"Yeah. He called me. Said you were making trouble. He said you wouldn't mind... earning the money."

He moved toward me, backing me into a corner. "He doesn't want you, Jocelyn. He said you're used goods. But I'll take care of you."

He grabbed my wrist, his other hand reaching for my dress. I shoved him, hard, but he was stronger. He laughed, a disgusting, wheezing sound. "He won't even care!"

At that exact moment, the lounge door swung open.

Matthew stood there, his face a mask of theatrical fury. Beside him, clinging to his arm, was Sabrina. She looked at me with pure, triumphant malice.

It was a setup. The whole thing was a setup.

"You whore," Matthew spat, his voice loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear. "I leave for a week and you're selling yourself in a back room? You're trash, Jocelyn. Just like your grandmother."

He grabbed Sabrina's hand and held it up. A massive diamond glittered on her finger. "I'm divorcing you. Sabrina and I are getting married."

I stood there, humiliated and exposed, as he turned his back on me and walked away. Mark just shrugged and finished his whiskey.

I felt nothing. I was a hollowed-out shell. I walked out of the restaurant and into the night, the laughter from nearby tables feeling like a physical blow.

As I reached my car, my phone rang. It was the hospital.

"Ms. Fuller? It's about your grandmother. The board has met. If payment for the treatment isn't received in the next 24 hours, we're going to have to... discontinue life support."

The world tilted. I leaned against my car, gasping for air. This was it. This was the bottom.

Then, my phone rang again. An unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something made me answer.

"Is this Jocelyn Fuller?" a calm, professional voice asked.

"Yes," I whispered.

"This is David Chen, your grandmother's attorney. I'm calling to inform you that as of 5 p.m. today, the 20-year lease agreement between Maria Fuller and Scott Technologies for the 100,000-acre ranch in West Texas has officially expired."

I couldn't process the words.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your grandmother set it up years ago. She never sold him the land, Jocelyn. She leased it to him for a nominal fee. And per the terms of her living trust, upon the expiration of that lease, the deed transfers. The land, the server farm, all of it... it's yours now. The deed is in your name."