Chapter 139: The Moment Officer Gray Left

The moment Officer Gray left, Derek Harlan's legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the floor, sweat pouring down his forehead. Before he could catch his breath, the old woman grabbed his ear and yanked him up with brute force.

"Derek Harlan! You good-for-nothing!" The old woman trembled with rage. "Two thousand one hundred dollars! You've drained the family dry! We were about to arrange a marriage for you—what are we supposed to use for the dowry now? Are you trying to kill us?"

"Ow! Grandma, ease up!" Derek winced in pain, finally prying her fingers off. "I'm your own grandson! Who's gonna give you great-grandkids if you break me?"

Rubbing his reddened ear, he still felt hard done by.

John Harlan and his wife stood nearby, their faces dark with fury. Their son was useless, but this mess was all his uncle’s fault! If he’d saved more money over the years, they wouldn’t have had to cough up this sum—money meant for Derek’s wedding!

"You dare talk back?" The old man slammed the table. "Keep this up, and see who’ll bother with you!"

Derek’s eyes darted craftily as he sidled up to his uncle. "Uncle, when are you and Aunt going back to town to reopen the shop? I can take you there. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll earn money."

The moment Monica heard this, she pushed her husband back onto the bed. "Reopen what? The doctor said if his back doesn’t heal properly, he’ll be paralyzed for life! Are you trying to kill him?"

James sighed. "Derek, with my condition... I might have to rely on you from now on."

"What? No way!" Derek jumped up in panic. "How will we make money without the shop? If you come back to farm, what’ll that measly harvest even cover?"

Monica sneered. "Oh, so farming means we’ll starve? Your parents farmed their whole lives—did they die from it?"

"That’s different!" Derek snapped, his face flushing. "Farming earns peanuts! Uncle’s sick, so why can’t you run the shop?"

"Run the shop?" Monica’s hands shook with anger. "Rent, stock—everything costs money! We’ve got a hundred dollars left for medical bills! Why don’t you front the capital?"

Derek stiffened. "Why should I? You’ve been in town for years—surely you’ve saved something! Listen, if you don’t reopen that shop, don’t expect me to take care of you in your old age!"

Thud! James suddenly struck the bedframe, his face turning ashen.

Monica’s eyes reddened as she lashed out. "All these years—the house, food, your grandparents’ living expenses—who paid for it all? You took two or three hundred a month for pocket money! And now, with your uncle bedridden, you’re still squeezing us for money?"

The old woman opened her mouth to curse, but James’s icy glare silenced her.

"Fine, I’ll say it straight!" Derek planted his hands on his hips. "No son to carry your coffin? Let the whole village laugh at you! Or maybe your precious daughter can smash the mourning bowl for you!"

"You little—!" The old man snatched a broom, ready to strike. "Apologize to your uncle!"

James raised a hand, his voice hoarse. "Mom, Dad, you heard him. A 'son' like this—we don’t want him. Brother, keep your treasure to yourself."

He clasped Monica’s hand and spoke slowly, deliberately. "From today onward, if anyone brings up inheriting both family lines again—don’t blame me for cutting ties."