After my husband threw me out of the house after our divorce, I took the old bank card my father had left behind and used it at a branch in the U.S., sending the whole bank lobby into a stir as the staff hurriedly called the manager over, and the words “Look at the name on this account!” revealed a family secret I had never known.

“Your time is up, Mr. Quacy,” Seek said flatly.

“Wait, I need time—”

“Time is a luxury you didn’t give Zelica,” Seek interrupted.

He took a step forward.

“According to the order from the Fulton County Superior Court, we are here to execute the lien on this asset.”

The deputy began putting seizure stickers on the wall of the apartment foyer.

“No, this is my house!” Quacy shouted.

“Technically, it is the collateral for your debt to my client,” the lawyer corrected. “You and this young lady”—he looked at Aniya with disdain—“are required to vacate these premises in one hour. Take your essential personal effects.”

One hour later, the scene in the lobby of the Sovereign turned into a spectacle.

Quacy, the same man who ten years ago felt like the king of the place, was escorted out by security guards—the same guards who had thrown Zelica out before.