I stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m doing my job,” he replied calmly. “I’m just not looking away anymore.”

Within two weeks, a preliminary audit began. Underpaid staff, falsified expenses, mishandled contracts. Not criminal—but enough to trigger fines and a forced shutdown.

Lauren called first.

“What did you do?” she snapped. “Mom says you’re destroying her business!”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said evenly. “Her choices finally caught up with her.”

“She’s been crying nonstop! And now Tim’s company is suffering too!”

I felt a flicker of guilt—then remembered her words: Only real mothers belong here.

“Do you understand how badly you hurt me?” I asked quietly.

“We didn’t mean it,” she said weakly. “We were stressed.”

“You mocked my grief,” I replied. Silence followed.
Then she whispered, “We need your help.”

A week later, my mother stood at my door.

For the first time, Diane didn’t look polished. Her hair was unkempt, her clothes wrinkled. Fear—real fear—flickered in her eyes.

“I need you,” she said softly.

Ethan stood beside me as she explained: collapsing finances, layoffs, reputational damage. Years of shortcuts were catching up to her—and Lauren’s family was falling with her.

“Why should I help?” I asked.

“Because we’re family,” she said.