My Dad Was Paying a Fortune

I'd known since I was little that my mother was Pierce Callahan's kept woman. Unfortunately, she was also the poorest kept woman in our circle. Other girls had closets full of dresses. Meanwhile, I barely owned anything besides my elementary and high school uniforms. When I was little, I fell in love with a $100 dress and asked my mother to see if my father would buy it for me. Her face fell immediately as she rebuked me, "He's already doing us a favor by keeping us. Do you really think you're a Callahan heiress?" I never asked for anything ever again. After the high school, I worked at a coffee shop for two months and paid the college's first semester's tuition myself. I started looking for a part-time job on my first day of college. I was so broke that I didn't even dare apply for student loans. My mother said, "Do you know who your father is? If word gets out, people will think he can't even afford to support his own daughter." So, I didn't go home for the week-long holiday, either. I ended up working at a hotel and was paid $240 a day. Seven days would be enough to cover a month of living expenses. On the third day of work, I stood outside a banquet hall in high heels that had rubbed my feet raw. That was when I saw my father. He stared at me for a long time. "What are you doing here?" I lowered my voice. "Making money for living expenses." My father's expression darkened. "I give your mom $200,000 every month. Why are you still working?" My mouth fell open, but I couldn't get a word out. Several seconds passed before I finally raised a hand to my chin and closed my jaw with a click. "$200,000?" I whispered in disbelief. Chapter 1 Where Did the Money Go? I couldn't help but wonder if I'd misheard him. Before I could ask, my father glanced toward the banquet hall. His expression suddenly hardened. "So, this is your latest trick?" I froze. "Your mom told me a few days ago that you've been asking around about Kiera." His eyes flicked over my hostess uniform. "We're holding a celebration for her tonight, and you show up dressed like this and stand at the door. Are you trying to show me just how miserable your life is?" My mind went blank. "I didn't know this was her party. I just came here for a part-time job." My father let out a scoff. "A part-time job? Your mom always says you're a scheming girl. I used to think she was being too hard on you. Now, I see I just don't know you as well as she does." I opened my mouth, but it took me a moment to find my voice. "I really didn't—" The hotel manager hurried over. My father glanced at me. "She shouldn't be here." The manager called me into the staff hallway less than 10 minutes later. "You can go home for today. And you won't need to come in for the next few days either." My heart sank. The job paid $240 a day during the seven-day holiday. If I worked for a full week, I'd be able to make $1,680. I'd already spent $200 on toiletries and other necessities. However, I had to save $1,000 for a new computer, and I also had plans to use the remaining $480 for food. Breakfast would cost me about $3, lunch $7, and I'd have rolls for dinner. But now, that plan was all up in smoke. "Sir, I can work in another hall," I pleaded. He frowned. "Mr. Callahan wants you out of his sight, and you're still insisting on staying?" I clenched the hem of my uniform. "Then, can I at least get paid for today? I've already worked six hours." "You're still making a scene?" My father was standing behind me. "I just want my pay," I blurted. "You're raising a fuss for a little over $200? Is this really necessary?" My nose stung. I took a deep breath and forced the lump in my throat back down. My nails dug deeper into my palms. "200 dollars doesn't mean anything to you." My voice came out strained. "But I really need the money." My father's expression darkened. "Enough. Your mother has been with me all these years and has never asked me for anything. Money is the last thing she cares about." He looked at me with disappointment. "How are you nothing like her? All you ever talk about is money. That's all you think about." I turned my face away and quickly wiped the moisture from the corner of my eye. I was about to tell him that I really wasn't putting on an act when the manager spoke first. "You disrupted the event tonight. You won't be paid, and your remaining shifts are canceled." I froze. "But I've been here since 9 a.m…" No one answered me. My father had already turned away. I took a step after him. "Dad." I wanted to ask what that $200,000 was really about. But there was no mistaking the warning in his eyes when he turned around. "Stop playing games. You can't just claim a share of the Callahan family's wealth because you want it." The words died in my throat. I carefully took off my heels in the staff locker room. My heels were bleeding. The blood had soaked into my socks, sticking them to my skin. When I peeled them off, I couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath in pain. My phone rang. It was my mother. "Nora, what were you thinking, showing up at Kiera's party and making a fool of yourself?" "Mom, I didn't—" She let out a cold laugh. "I told your father long ago that you're a scheming girl. Still, did you really have to prove him right?" Finally, I couldn't stop the question burning at the tip of my tongue. "But Dad just said he gives you $200,000 every month—" "Enough!" My mother cut me off. "Why is money all you ever think about recently? I've been with your dad all these years, and it was never because of his money." She paused. "How did you end up just like those kids raised by mistresses who are so obsessed with money?" I lowered my head, but the tears still came. I could feel the droplets plopping wetly against my knees. "I just wanted to ask—" "What is there to ask?" Her voice turned cold. "Since you're so good at making money, don't ask me for living expenses this semester. And transfer back the $1,000 I gave you at the start of the school year." I panicked. "Mom, that's my living expenses for the whole semester." "Didn't you say you got yourself a job? Then, you can earn that money yourself." The call ended just like that. I sat in the locker room for a long time without moving. The breakfast I'd been too reluctant to eat was still sitting beside me. I suddenly remembered what my father had said. He said my mother had never been after his money. However, if that were truly the case, where did the $200,000 he gave her every month go? Chapter 2 The Doors That Closed I transferred the $1,000 my mother had given me for living expenses back to her on the subway back to campus. After I did, all I had left in my bank account was a measly $871. It took me a few seconds to remember where the rest had gone. I'd spent $46 on textbooks at the start of the semester, a little over $70 on necessities, and about $10 on printing. That came to $129 in total. I stared at my balance for a long time before transferring the $871. "I'll pay back the remaining $129 as soon as I can." My mother replied almost instantly, "You've only had $1,000 for a few days. How did you spend so much?" I quickly explained, "It was all for textbooks and necessities." "Doesn't the campus library have free textbooks? Did you really have to buy necessities that cost so much? Nora, you really have no idea how to handle your finances." I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, forcing the tears back. My nose burned, and a faint salty bitterness spread across my tongue. I swallowed it. Her accusations were so ironic because I remembered every dollar I'd spent, down to the last cent. Yet, I would always be the greedy child who could never have enough in my dear mother's eyes. After I got back to the dorm, I sat there for a long time before finally asking my roommate, "Could you lend me $150?" She didn't ask a single question. Instead, she immediately transferred me $200. I sent my mother the $129 I still owed her before returning the rest to my roommate. My mother replied, "Now, that's more like it." A few seconds later, another message came through. "Money is the least important thing. Don't become obsessed with it." I stared at the screen as my vision slowly blurred. I blinked several times, but I still couldn't see clearly. So, I set my phone face down on the desk. I fell in love with programming back in high school. One of my teachers had recommended that I attend a five-day algorithm training camp. It cost $2,800. It was the first time anyone had told me I had talent. I excitedly brought the notice home, but my mother barely glanced at it. "$2,800 just to sit around coding for a few days? Your father hates it when kids use school as a reason to ask for money." I told her my teacher thought I could win an award. She snatched my phone away. "Don't bother him." Later, the student who took my spot as my replacement won second prize. I secretly looked at the list of winners over and over, but I kept telling myself that I was the one who was being greedy. I never expected that a teacher would reach out to me in the group chat after I started college and say, "Nora, you should try the Collegiate Programming Contest." The registration and equipment fees were $380. Just $380. Two days of part-time work would be enough to cover the cost. So, I went to five stores near campus that very afternoon. The coffee shop said they were fully staffed. The bookstore owner saw my name and immediately looked uncomfortable. "Someone from your family already spoke to us. We're just a small store. We can't hire you." The training center, convenience store, and restaurant all said the same thing. The last place even told me outright, "Mr. Callahan told us not to let you work part-time." By the time I trudged out, it was completely dark. One store after another had hiring signs glowing along the street. Yet, it felt like every door was closed to me for the first time since forever. My mother wouldn't give me money. My father thought I cared too much about money. Now, I wasn't even allowed to earn it myself. I suddenly had no idea what I could do. At 7:50 p.m., a reminder popped up in the group chat. "You have 10 minutes left to register." My roommate saw that I still hadn't paid and picked up her phone. "I'll give you $400." "No." I immediately stopped her hand. "I already owe you money." She looked at me. "Nora, tell me. Do you even have $100 right now?" My throat tightened. I wanted to smile and say it was fine, but I couldn't get a single word out, even after flapping my lips like a desperate fish. The page refreshed at exactly 8 p.m. "Registration is now closed." The contest I'd been waiting three years for was gone just like that. My tears fell before I could stop them. My phone vibrated at that exact moment. It was my father. "I heard you went looking for another part-time job. What exactly are you trying to do? Can't you put that energy toward something worthwhile?" A few seconds later, he sent another message. "It looks like some things really are in your blood." I stared at the screen as the tears came harder and harder. All I wanted was to earn the $380 myself. I hadn't asked them for money or fought anyone for anything. Even so, everything I did was still wrong. Chapter 3 The Money Was There By Friday, I couldn't withstand the hunger any longer. I had four classes that morning, and all I had was two cups of water. By noon, my stomach started cramping up from time to time. I split the half-pack of crackers left in my backpack into two portions and only dared to eat one. During my afternoon programming class, my hand shook as I held the mouse. The code on the screen started to blur. My roommate eventually slipped me a piece of candy. "Nora, you're looking way too pale." After class, she insisted on dragging me to the cafeteria. I ordered a plain baked potato and a side salad. The total came to $6.50. I tapped my campus card, but the payment was declined for insufficient funds. There were still people waiting behind me, and my face immediately started to burn in mortification. I quickly lowered my head and checked my phone. My dining balance was only $0.63. My roommate immediately held out her card. "Use mine." I was about to tell her I'd pay her back when my phone suddenly started vibrating. Several new messages had appeared in the class group chat. They were from my mother. "I'd appreciate it if none of Nora's teachers or classmates lent her money." "She's been pretending to be helpless since she was little. The more people help her, the more she thinks all she has to do is cry to get what she wants." Two more messages followed. "Her father has a family of his own. I stayed with him all these years because I loved him. I have never wanted a single cent from the Callahan family." "Unfortunately, my daughter didn't take after me. Now, all she thinks about is money. She's also been trying to compete with the child in that family." A loud roar seemed to go off in my head. The voices around me faded. My legs went weak, and I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself. People were already asking for follow-ups in the group chat. "So, she's his illegitimate daughter?" "If her family is so rich, why is she always borrowing money?" My roommate slammed her tray down and grabbed my phone. "She's not pretending to be helpless. She borrowed money because her mother took back the money she was supposed to live on." The group went silent for a few seconds. Then, someone said, "Figures. You two are probably just alike. Look at you being her knight in shining armor. Are you getting something out of it, too? Why don't you cover her living expenses from now on?" My mother actually replied, "Thank you for caring about her, but Nora is very good at getting other people to stand up for her. Don't let her use you." My roommate's face turned red with anger. She started typing again. I snatched the phone back. "Forget it." It was only after the word left my mouth that I realized I was shaking. She was only trying to defend me, but now she was getting attacked because of me. I ran outside the cafeteria and called my mother. "Mom, delete those messages from the group." "So, now you're embarrassed?" "My roommate has nothing to do with this." My mother's voice was flat. "Then, admit that you were wrong. Tell them in the group chat that you only took a job and borrowed money because you were mad at your family. Show some sincerity, and I might consider giving you the $1,000 living expenses for this semester again." I doubled over as another wave of stomach pain hit me. 1,000 dollars would feed me for a long time. I actually typed a reply. "I'm sorry." However, I couldn't bring myself to hit "Send." What had I done wrong? Was I wrong for being hungry? Was I wrong for wanting to earn some money of my own? Or was I wrong for not even being able to afford a $6.50 meal? "Nora, I'm giving you one last chance." My tears fell. "Mom, I really don't have any money left." There was a two-second silence. "If you don't have money, then learn to go without. It's better for a girl to grow up poorer; at least she won't grow up obsessed with money." The call ended. The $6.50 meal had already gone cold. I lowered my head and took two bites, but I couldn't swallow another. The next morning, my academic advisor asked me to come to her office. I had barely reached the door when I heard my mother's voice. "She isn't struggling financially. She doesn't need to apply for financial aid. Her father gives me $200,000 every month. He also gave me another $80,000 at the beginning of the school year for her tuition, housing, and living expenses." I stopped in my tracks. $80,000? My mother continued, "Of course, I didn't give it to her directly. A child can't grow up thinking that having wealthy parents means she's entitled to everything." I lowered my head and opened my banking app. My account had a balance of just $3.27. I still owed my roommate $129. She had paid for yesterday's $6.50 meal, too. Yet, my mother had just said that my father gave her $80,000 at the start of the school year. Chapter 4 The Offer I didn't open the office door. I couldn't. My mother was still talking inside, and it took everything I had in me just to brace myself against the wall and make my way downstairs one step at a time. People started whispering the moment I stepped out of the academic building. "Is that her?" "Her mom said it herself. She's the illegitimate daughter." I slowed for a moment, lowered my head, and kept shuffling forward. My phone wouldn't stop vibrating. Another post had gone up on the campus forum. "Rich Illegitimate Daughter Pretends to Be Poor—What's She Really After?" There were already hundreds of comments. Some people said I was playing the victim to pressure my father into acknowledging me. Someone even posted screenshots of my roommate defending me. "Is she in on it too?" Dozens of hateful comments were thrown at my roommate. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, and my palms suddenly broke out in sweat. I messaged my roommate immediately. "Stop defending me." She replied almost instantly, "Why would I stop defending you?" I stared at those words, my eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time, but I couldn't type a single word. Just then, a friend request popped up. I recognized the profile picture. It was the young man who had been sitting at the head table at the Callahans' banquet. I accepted it. His first message was, "I heard you're short on money?" Another message followed. "$50,000 a month. Be my kept woman." I stared at the $50,000. Suddenly, my stomach started cramping up again. I bent over, clutching my stomach as my throat tightened. I gagged twice, bracing myself against my knees. Unfortunately, my stomach was so empty that I had nothing but bile left to throw up. My eyes were unfocused as I stared at the ground, tasting the bitter, rancid taste lingering on my tongue. I crouched there for a long while before picking up my phone again. My fingers were trembling slightly as I replied, "All I care about is money. If I really become a kept woman, I might be even more shameless about money than my mother." "Bags, cars, properties. You name it, I want it." After a few seconds, I typed one more message. "Would you still be okay with me?" His reply came almost instantly. "Yes." I stared at that one word and suddenly started bursting into peals of breathless laughter. Tears slipped into my smiling mouth. They tasted bitter. Just then, my phone started ringing. It was my mother. "Did you hear me talking to your advisor?" I tightened my grip on the phone until my knuckles slowly turned white. "Mom, why won't you give me the $80,000 my father gave me?" There was a moment of silence on the other end. I held my breath. Unfortunately, there was nothing in her voice but irritation when she finally did speak. "Why is everything always about money with you? I don't want to raise you into that kind of woman." I looked at the $50,000 in the chat. "What kind of woman?" My mother's breathing grew heavier as she ranted, "Your father and I are together because we genuinely love each other. I'm not like those women out there who are only after his money. "If you ever do anything disgraceful just for money, you can forget about ever calling me your mother again." She hung up almost immediately. I kept the phone pressed to my ear. It took a long time before I slowly lowered my hand. Not long after, my father's messages started coming in one after another. "Money isn't something you should be worrying about." "Your mother has been through a lot with me all these years." "Don't make a mess of the family over money." "Call me back. Now." My mother was texting me as well. "Stop bothering your father." "You can still apologize and fix this." "Don't make me stop caring about you." My phone kept vibrating. I sat on a bench behind the academic building, watching their messages pile up on the screen. Then, I muted both of them. The man sent another message. "Have you made up your mind?" My stomach clenched in protest once more. I held my phone tightly and sat there for a long time. Finally, I opened his chat. My finger hovered over the input field for a long time before I finally typed one word. "Okay." The message went through. My father called again. I stared at the screen for two seconds before silencing the call.