Chapter 4

Late that night, after the party ended, Chloe fell asleep from exhaustion.

For some reason, Daniel suddenly thought of me—the daughter he’d left in a corner of his life.

He picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts.

When he found the one labeled “Emma”—no heart emoji, no nickname, just a cold name—he paused.

Then, as if granting charity, he sent a message.

“Stop being dramatic. Come back. Go to the docks for Chloe and we’ll call it even.”

“I know about Lucas. Dead is dead. What’s the point of you running to the hospital every day? Come home. I’ll be waiting.”

The screen lit up.

Then dimmed.

Again.

And again.

No reply.

Daniel tossed the phone aside, irritation and something unidentifiable flickering across his face.

I forced a smile.

It was ridiculous.

And tragic.

There was a time when I would’ve been overjoyed just to receive a message like that.

I never imagined that in Daniel’s eyes, Lucas’s death amounted to nothing more than “dead is dead.”

Over the next few days, Daniel stayed with Chloe through her birthday week—dinners, shopping, congratulations at FBI headquarters.

It wasn’t until he tried to pay for a custom dress that he realized over a hundred thousand dollars had been frozen in his account.

“What the hell? What did Emma do with my card?!”

Watching him rage only exhausted me.

What card?

I never knew any of his banking passwords.

He gave Chloe a secondary card. Bought her a car. Bought her an apartment.

He never once asked if I needed anything.

Aside from the small monthly allowance he transferred—his version of “don’t starve”—I never spent an extra cent.

And yet now, everything was my fault.

“Chloe, I’m going to find Emma. Go back to the apartment.”

“Okay, Dad. Hurry.”

Daniel left in a rush.

Almost at the same moment, a faint smile curved Chloe’s lips.

When Daniel returned home, he froze in the doorway.

The door was slightly open.

He pushed it.

The smell of blood hit him instantly.

Dark brown stains covered the living room floor, dried thick from the entryway to the sofa. Clear drag marks ran through them.

The couch was overturned. The coffee table shattered. Blood sprayed across the walls at uneven heights—signs of prolonged violence.

On the dining table sat the untouched birthday cake, covered in dust. The food beside it had gone moldy.

The dinner I made while waiting for him.

He never came.

On the floor lay a brand-new tie. The box crushed.

His birthday gift.

Daniel didn’t move.

His eyes scanned the blood.

The walls.

The tie.

Then stopped near the door.

A shattered phone.

He walked over and picked it up.

The screen was cracked and stained with dried blood.

But one thing was still visible—

Call log.

“Dad” – Outgoing – Duration: 3 seconds.

Time: 9:23 PM.

My twentieth birthday.

The exact moment he hung up on me.

Daniel’s hands began to shake.

He stood there in the blood-soaked living room like a statue.

I watched.

And felt those twelve hours swallow me all over again.

I remembered that night.

When they broke in, I was waiting for his call.

The cake untouched. The food cold. The tie clutched in my hand.

When the first slap hit, I thought—

Will he show up?

When the knife cut into my skin, I thought—

Will he answer?

When they crushed my ribs under their boots, I thought—

Will he… even once… see me?

He never did.

“What the hell happened here?!”

Daniel’s voice finally broke the silence.

No one answered.

At that exact moment, the Emotional Settlement Bureau sent him a notice.

“The public hearing for Parent-Child Emotional Settlement will begin today at 16:00. Please arrive on time.”

Hope flashed in his eyes.

He thought he would see me there.

He rushed out, still gripping the shattered phone.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t see the bloody handprints I left on the wall.

He didn’t see the shape of my body in the dried stain.

He saw nothing.

Just like the last twenty years.

On the way to the hearing, Daniel called FBI Dispatch.

“Check something for me. A month ago, on my birthday—did Emma file a police report?”

A cold laugh came through the line.

“Did she file a report? Chloe Mitchell didn’t tell you?”

Daniel’s expression darkened instantly.

The man on the other end was Carter—his longtime rival, head of Dispatch.

“Cut the crap. Just answer me.”

“You already filed for settlement, didn’t you? You’ll see Emma at the hearing.”

The car swerved violently before Daniel corrected the wheel.

“How do you know?”

“Not just me. The entire FBI knows. Daniel Cross filed Emotional Settlement against his biological daughter. Everyone’s wondering what you owe her.”

The line went dead.

Daniel sped to the venue.

A crowd had already gathered.

I floated above them, listening.

“Daniel Cross’s daughter? I heard she’s a librarian. Always at the hospital. Dating a vegetable.”

“Yeah, Daniel raised her for twenty years and she still hides instead of showing up?”

“I want to see how many emotional credits she ends up owing.”

I clenched my hands instinctively.

Then I saw Sarah standing tall in the crowd.

Daniel noticed her too.

He was about to speak when staff called him onstage.

Soon, a glaring number appeared beneath his name.

48,000,000 emotional credits.

Gasps erupted.

“That’s insane.”

“No wonder she’s a failure. She gave nothing back.”

When it was my turn, Daniel scanned the room frantically.

I wasn’t there.

Chloe—who should’ve been at the apartment—stood below the stage, smug.

“Guess Emma knows she can’t repay it.”

“Too bad. Once settlement starts, it proceeds whether she shows up or not.”

Panic rose in me.

What did I have?

Nothing.

Daniel raised me for twenty years.

Fed me.

Clothed me.

Paid Lucas’s hospital bills.

How could I possibly surpass that?

Just when everyone assumed I wouldn’t appear, Sarah took a deep breath and walked onto the stage, eyes red.

Above her head—

A negative number appeared.

The crowd burst into harsh laughter.

But only seconds later, Daniel suddenly looked up.

His face drained of color.

He looked like he might lose control.