The Mother-in-Law Problem

1
I was leisurely pruning my new 0-0.88 million orchid with a pair of small golden shears when my son’s old flame stormed into my garden.
She blew in like a hurricane, pointed a trembling finger at me, and burst into tears.
Mrs. Vance! I know you’ve always looked down on me! Years ago, you forced me to leave Joss with a five-hundred-thousand-dollar check, telling me I wasn't good enough for your family!
"Well, I'm back now, and I won't let you tear us apart again!"
My hand, holding the shears, froze mid-air. I was utterly bewildered.
Five hundred thousand?
Since when was I so… frugal?
…
Joss’s face flushed a deep crimson as he rushed to her side, grabbing her arm. "Sadie, calm down! What are you talking about? My mother isn't like that…"
"Hold on," I said, setting down the shears. I walked over to Sadie Summers, my expression one of genuine confusion. "You said a five-hundred-thousand-dollar check?"
Sadie was taken aback by my direct question, but she quickly straightened her spine, tears welling in her eyes.
"Yes! Five hundred thousand! Mrs. Vance, stop pretending! You just want Joss to think you're some benevolent mother, but behind his back, you've been plotting against me all along!"
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement sparking within me. "And how, exactly, have I been plotting against you? With five hundred thousand dollars?"
I looked her dead in the eye, my voice serious. "My dear, do you have some sort of misunderstanding about wealthy families? Or perhaps, a misunderstanding of my personal spending habits?"
I held up a single, manicured finger and wagged it gently. "First, I don't use checks. They're a hassle; I deal in wire transfers. Second, even if I were to pay you to leave my son, don't you think that price is a bit… insulting?"
My gaze swept over her, from head to toe. "Are you insulting my financial standing, or are you insulting your own worth? Since when did the price of entry into the Vance family become so cheap?"
"I…" Sadie’s face turned ghostly pale. This was clearly not in her script.
She shot a helpless look at Joss, her voice cracking. "Joss, do you hear her? Do you hear what your mother is saying? She's humiliating me!"
Joss looked as if he’d been constipated for three days. Caught in the middle, he tried to placate Sadie while giving me an apologetic smile. "Mom, please, just a few words less. Sadie just got back, she’s a little emotional…"
"You, step aside," I said, giving my son a pointed look. "Men are best advised to keep quiet in these situations. You'll only make things worse. Today, I need to clear this up with Miss Summers, face to face."
My attention returned to Sadie, my tone still even. "Miss Summers, you claim I forced you away. Surely you have some proof? A witness, a piece of evidence, a transaction record? You can't just throw such a serious accusation at me based on nothing but your word, can you?"
"I…" Sadie was speechless, biting her lip. After a long pause, she finally choked out, "The way you looked at me back then is the proof! It was filled with disdain and contempt!"
I almost laughed out loud.
Turning, I beckoned to our butler, Arthur, who was hovering anxiously at the greenhouse entrance. "Arthur, could you come here for a moment?"
Arthur scurried over, standing respectfully at attention.
Right in front of Sadie, I gave my instructions in a calm, measured voice. "Please contact the finance department immediately. I want a full audit of all my personal and corporate accounts from five years ago. Look for any outgoing payment of five hundred thousand dollars to a Miss Sadie Summers. Be thorough, don't miss anything. I want the results within the hour."
After a beat, as if a thought just occurred to me, I added, "Oh, and while you're at it, please print out a copy of the electronic receipt for my five-million-dollar donation to the Children's Cancer Fund last month. In color. Let's give Miss Summers a sense of the current market rate and familiarize her with my spending habits. We wouldn't want her to make up stories next time with figures that are so embarrassingly low. It reflects poorly on the Vance name."
Sadie was frozen to the spot, every last drop of color drained from her face.
Joss simply covered his face with his hand and turned away, as if he couldn't bear to watch. Arthur was efficient. In less than thirty minutes, the full-color receipt, emblazoned with the staggering figure of five million dollars, was laid out on the stone table in the greenhouse.
Sadie stared at the long string of zeros, speechless, before Joss half-dragged, half-coaxed her away.
The next afternoon, I was having tea with my dearest friend, Jessica Morgan, a powerhouse who had dominated the business world for decades.
We were chatting about a piece of Imperial Jade we’d both bid on at an auction in Hong Kong last week when Joss arrived with Sadie in tow.
My son wore a pleading expression. "Mom, Aunt Jessica, I brought Sadie to say hello."
I nodded, but before I could speak, Sadie’s eyes were already darting between me and Jessica.
Jessica was wearing a chic, cream-colored Chanel suit, and I happened to have chosen a cashmere shawl in a similar shade.
That alone was enough to make Sadie's eyes turn red again.
She took a deep breath, stepped forward, and looked at me, her voice trembling on the verge of tears. "Mrs. Vance, I understand now. You don't have to go to such lengths to humiliate me."
Jessica and I both paused, our teacups hovering in mid-air.
Sadie didn’t look at me. Instead, she turned to Jessica, though her words were clearly meant for me. "You think I don't come from a good enough background, that I lack poise. So you deliberately found a woman who is more mature, more accomplished, from a more distinguished family, just to show me that I'm nothing but a cheap substitute who can be replaced at any moment by someone better. Is that it?"
I nearly choked on my coffee.
Jessica Morgan?
This was a woman who built her own publicly-traded company from the ground up. Her husband’s family fortune was even larger than ours.
Asking her to be a "substitute"? My son wouldn't dare. Even my late husband wouldn't have dared.
Jessica, far from being offended, seemed intrigued. She set down her cup and looked at Sadie. "What's your name, young lady?"
"Sadie Summers," she answered defiantly.
"Alright, Miss Summers." Jessica nodded, her tone placid. "Let's do some math. According to your theory, Mrs. Vance hired me to make you feel inadequate. Do you know what the opportunity cost of me sitting here for this afternoon tea is? It’s two signed contracts. Do you have any idea the value of this haute couture suit and the jewelry I'm wearing?"
Jessica’s voice was unhurried but sharp. "Do you really think Mrs. Vance, a shrewd investor, would spend so much capital on a high-value asset like me, just to intimidate… forgive my bluntness, a target with currently no discernible market value? Where, exactly, is the return on that investment?"
Sadie was completely floored by the barrage of business jargon. Her face was a kaleidoscope of colors as she stood there, mouth agape, unable to form a single rebuttal.
Joss’s expression had turned thunderous. He quickly grabbed Sadie’s arm and apologized profusely to us. "Mom, Aunt Jessica, I'm so sorry, so sorry. Sadie didn't mean it. We're leaving now!"
With that, he practically dragged the petrified Sadie away, making a hasty retreat.
Watching them go, Jessica picked up her coffee, blew on it gently, and smiled at me. "Eleanor, your son certainly has… unique taste. Life must be very entertaining."
I sighed, slumping back into the sofa. "Don't even start. I just tell myself I'm watching a soap opera every day. At least it's free."
After Jessica schooled her with business logic at the executive lounge, Sadie laid low for two days.
I thought she might finally be starting to understand the difference between reality and fiction. I was far too naive.
That afternoon, as I was sipping a rare oolong tea in the main house's living room, Sadie showed up with bags and bags of fresh groceries.
She slammed the ingredients down on the coffee table with a thud and announced solemnly, "Mrs. Vance, from this day forward, I will be in charge of Joss's diet! I won't let any outsiders have a hand in his health ever again!"
I held my teacup, not even bothering to look up. "Mrs. Gable, our cook, has been with the family for thirty years. She's hardly an outsider. Also, Joss is allergic to shellfish, especially crustaceans. The slightest taste gives him a rash and makes it hard for him to breathe. Are you planning to send him to the emergency room with that king crab and Boston lobster?"
Sadie’s face stiffened, then shifted into an expression that screamed, "I knew you'd say that."
"Mrs. Vance, you don't have to test me anymore!" she said stubbornly. "I know you're just using this excuse to keep me away from Joss! Don't worry, the meal I make today will be perfectly safe for him!"
Looking at her defiant, "I'm not listening" face, I felt that reasoning with her was a complete waste of breath.
I sighed, put down my cup, and picked up my phone. "Hello, Dr. Evans? It's Eleanor Vance. Are you free at the moment? If so, could you please come over to the estate? And bring a copy of Joss's latest physical and his allergen chart."
Dr. Evans had been our family doctor for decades. He was a respected professional.
After hanging up, I told Sadie, "You don't believe me, so let's have the doctor explain it to you. That should be acceptable, right? It'll be in black and white, a professional diagnosis. You'll accept that, won't you?"
To my surprise, upon hearing this, Sadie’s face went white as a sheet, her eyes filled with a mixture of grief and disappointment.
"You… you even bought Dr. Evans?" Her voice trembled. "He's your spy, isn't he? You've arranged everything, just waiting for me to walk into your trap! This medical report… it's all part of your conspiracy, a forgery you had him create just to use against me!" I was genuinely stunned by her imagination.
I’d lived for sixty years, and this was the first I’d heard of a family doctor being used as a counter-intelligence asset.
Joss happened to be coming down the stairs and walked right into the tense scene. He looked exhausted.
"Sadie! What nonsense are you spouting now? Dr. Evans has known me since I was a child. How could you say that about him?"
Sadie looked at him with tear-filled eyes. "Joss! Can't you see? This is a trap set by your mother!"
The farce ended with the arrival of Dr. Evans, Sadie screaming "I don't believe you!" with her hands over her ears, and Joss, desperate to quiet her down, reluctantly agreeing to "just have a little taste."
At dinner, Mrs. Gable prepared a simple, light meal for me.
At the other end of the table sat Sadie's lovingly prepared seafood feast.
Under Sadie’s expectant gaze, Joss steeled himself and ate a small piece of crab meat.
Less than ten minutes later, red spots started appearing on his face, followed by labored, wheezing breaths.
The living room exploded into chaos.
Dr. Evans immediately rushed forward to administer emergency treatment while the bodyguards scrambled to prepare the car for the hospital.
Sadie just stood there, holding a platter, her face ashen with shock, muttering to herself, "How could this happen? I only let him have a tiny piece…"
I calmly pushed through the crowd and walked up to her. Looking at her face, a canvas of disbelief and confusion, I told her, word by word:
"Miss Summers, love does not conquer allergies. That is a scientific fact."
After the seafood incident, Joss spent two days in the hospital. Sadie, presumably wracked with guilt, was much quieter.
I figured I couldn't let her just sit at home stewing in her own fantasies, so I decided to take her out into the world.
The annual Starlight Charity Gala, a major city event spearheaded by the Vance Corporation, was approaching.
I had my assistant send over a portfolio from a couture house for her to pick a proper gown. She refused without even looking, saying she had already prepared something.
A sense of dread immediately washed over me.
On the night of the gala, my premonition came true.
As I entered the ballroom on the arm of an old family friend, the first thing I saw was Joss and Sadie standing near the entrance.
My son was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, looking sharp and handsome. Beside him, Sadie was wearing a pair of faded, washed-out jeans and a plain white cotton t-shirt. She wore no makeup.
Among the glittering, jewel-adorned guests, she looked like a delivery girl who had stumbled into the wrong event.
The media’s camera flashes descended upon them like a frenzy of lightning.
Joss's face was so dark it could have been carved from obsidian. He hissed under his breath, "Sadie, what in the world are you doing?"
But Sadie stood tall, a look of tragic self-righteousness on her face. She scanned the lavishly dressed crowd around her and said to Joss, "I get it now, Joss. Your mother just wanted to use this ostentatious, decadent event to humiliate me, to make me feel ashamed so I'd give up. She wanted to show me that a normal girl like me could never fit into your world."
I almost passed out.
Did this girl have a persecution complex?
Taking a deep breath, I maintained my elegant smile and walked over to them.
I ignored Sadie and addressed the reporters directly, my voice warm and gentle. "Everyone, allow me to introduce you. This is Miss Summers, a very unique friend of my son's. Her attire tonight is her way of demonstrating to us all that the true spirit of charity lies in the heart, not in glamorous appearances. Don't you all agree?"
The reporters immediately caught on, snapping photos and murmuring in agreement.
I had successfully transformed a PR disaster into a refreshingly positive angle.
Joss shot me a grateful look, while Sadie beamed with pride, pleased that I had recognized her "deeper meaning."
During the gala, I tried to introduce her to a few of my more mild-mannered business partners, thinking it would be good for her to network.
But the moment a Mr. Wallace from a real estate firm offered her his business card, Sadie recoiled, shooting me a suspicious glance before telling him, "You don't have to test me. I'm not going to leave Joss for money!"
The poor man, a forty-something father of two, was left standing there in stunned silence, utterly baffled as to what he’d said wrong.
I quickly apologized and changed the subject to smooth things over.
The real climax, however, came during the charity auction.
Joss was set to bid on the final item: a spectacular pink diamond. It had been a gift from my late husband, which I had donated with the intention of having Joss buy it back.
But just as he was about to raise his paddle, Sadie suddenly clamped her hand down on his, whispering urgently in his ear, "Don't fall for it! It's a trap! Your mother wants you to go bankrupt so she can get rid of me!"
Thanks to Sadie's intervention, Joss left the auction empty-handed, a complete and utter embarrassment.
After the gala, in the parking garage, Joss finally exploded. "Do you have any idea how much you humiliated me tonight?" he roared.
Sadie’s tears flowed even more freely than his anger. "I was trying to help you! I did it for us!"
I stood a short distance away, unable to muster even a sliver of a smile.
"Sadie," I said, my voice laced with ice, "you're not protecting him. You're destroying him."
I looked at Joss, but my words were for her. "That diamond was the first gift your uncle ever gave me. I donated it so that Joss could personally buy it back, to show everyone that he is capable of protecting this family's legacy."
I paused, a genuine pang of sorrow in my voice.
"And now, a stranger has it. All because of some ridiculous, non-existent conspiracy you cooked up in your head."
Without another glance at them, I turned to Joss and issued a decree, my voice devoid of all emotion.
"Joss. My office. Nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Come alone."

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "253290" to read the entire book.