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.

“For whom?” Seek asked, now truly interested.

“For the workers in our pecan groves and for the owners of the small suppliers who were almost destroyed by Quacy. They will have priority and special discounts. And the machinery seized from him—we will use it to build those houses,” she said with a faint smile. “It’s poetic justice.”

Seek looked at her with undisguised admiration.

“Not only that,” Zelica added. “On another 25 acres, I want to build the Okafor Center—a training facility for modern agribusiness and small-business management. I want people like my father to have the chance to succeed without having to hide.”

Zelica wasn’t just getting revenge. She was building a legacy.

She was done with Quacy, but the law wasn’t.

He, now living poorly in a shared apartment on the outskirts, thought the worst had passed. He thought that after losing everything to Zelica, he was free.