My Mother-in-Law Forced Me and My Three Daughters to Live in a Cramped Room Beside the Laundry, Constantly Telling Me, “A Woman Who Can't Give This Family a Son Is Worthless.” The Morning She Publicly Humiliated Me in Front of Forty Charity Donors, a Billionaire Quietly Took Off His Jacket, Wrapped It Around My Shivering Girls, and Said, “They're Leaving With Me.”.352

Every time Margaret said debt.

Debt.

Debt.

The word had been a chain.

And the chain had never existed.

I stood.

“Where are my daughters?”

Margaret said nothing.

I screamed it.

“WHERE ARE MY DAUGHTERS?”

I ran.

Up the main staircase.

Past portraits of dead Whitmores.

Past guests spilling into the hallway.

Richard behind me.

A security guard following.

Third floor.

East corridor.

I reached the guest bedroom and twisted the handle.

Locked.

“Olivia!”

“Mom!”

Three voices exploded from inside.

I hit the door with both hands.

“Open it.”

The security guard hesitated.

Margaret reached the landing.

“You are not damaging my property.”

I turned.

My cheek still burned where she had hit me.

Something in me burned hotter.

I pointed at the door.

“Open it, or I will.”

The guard took out his master key.

Margaret shouted his name.

He ignored her.

The lock clicked.

The door opened.

Olivia came first.