Chapter 253

The loan sharks' call had barely ended two hours ago when Ethan Roscente got wind of it. The speed was unnerving.

Between the car accident and hospital visit, most of the day had been consumed. How had he found out so quickly?

Then again, Ethan was the Roscente family patriarch. Every move within the household fell under his surveillance. And Emily Laurent—his late uncle's widow—would naturally warrant special attention...

Yet something felt off.

First the investment scam, then the loan sharks. The sequence was too convenient.

"Can you still reach that friend who introduced you to the business venture?" Sophia Lowell asked abruptly. "Any chance of recovering the money?"

Emily's jaw tightened. "Don't even ask. She got duped too. The whole scheme was designed to recruit friends targeting friends. The perpetrators fled overseas the moment they got the funds."

"We considered going to the police, but our social circle cares too much about face. A public scandal would humiliate everyone involved. Private investigators found nothing—they'd vanished without a trace."

Her eyes reddened. "I poured my savings into that thirty-million deal, even borrowed heavily. Now I can't buy a handbag without budgeting. How am I supposed to live like this?"

"Serves you right," Sophia said coldly. "Some lessons only stick after suffering."

Emily lowered her head guiltily, then hesitated. "About the money I owe your uncle..."

"You'll repay it," Sophia cut in. "Start cutting expenses."

She knew Emily could never realistically settle the debt. The statement was merely to rein in her extravagance.

"My limited edition bags..." Emily ventured. "Could you help me find buyers? I need the cash."

Sophia blinked. Those handbags were Emily's prized possessions. She must be truly desperate.

"I'll ask Vivian," she relented. "She has extensive entertainment industry connections."

"Perfect! Update me immediately!"

The sedative in Emily's IV took effect, lulling her back to sleep.

After Margaret Lefèvre returned, the three had dinner together. Sophia accompanied Emily for a garden stroll before excusing herself—someone awaited her at home.

Thirty minutes later, Sophia entered her apartment.

A rustling sound came from the kitchen. She frowned. Rats?

Her calico cat was far too regal for rodent hunting. If anything, the spoiled creature would leap into her arms at the sight of a mouse.

In this aging building, rats and cockroaches were regular visitors. Sophia had long mastered the art of dealing with them.