Second Chance: Marrying into Wealth Chapter 195

I saw the triumphant expressions on Quinlan's parents' faces.

Quinlan's father, Yosef Turner, held up five fingers.

Marlowe's eyes widened immediately. "Fifty thousand dollars!"

Her voice was sharp, but after shouting, she probably did some quick mental math and figured that fifty thousand dollars was a reasonable price to get Quinlan's troublesome parents out of Starlight City.

So she quickly responded, "Fine, I'll transfer fifty thousand dollars to you. Just leave Starlight City immediately."

Yosef, however, laughed sinisterly. "Fifty thousand dollars? That's peanuts. Do you think we're beggars?"

Marlowe deserved it, honestly.

But Yosef was really pushing it. Who in their right mind would give a beggar fifty thousand dollars?

I was curious to see how Marlowe would handle Yosef's shamelessness.

Not that I felt sorry for her. When she tried to harm others, she should have expected a day when she'd face the consequences.

Of course, seeing karma come so quickly, I couldn't resist recording it. Watching it alone would be boring; I'd show it to Paula later.

As I pulled out my phone and switched to video mode, Yosef must have already named his price.

Marlowe exploded, "Five hundred thousand dollars? Are you out of your mind? That's extortion! How can you even say that with a straight face? And why would I give you half a million dollars?"

Yosef disagreed. "That's not how it works. You called us here to find my daughter. If we can't find her, you have to take responsibility. If we do find Quinlan, forget five hundred thousand dollars; I could get a million out of her. We're being generous by cutting it in half for you. Don't act like you don't know a good deal when you see one."

Honestly, Yosef's ability to twist the truth was even more impressive than I thought.

Marlowe was almost laughing from anger. "Quinlan just graduated college. Do you really think she can make a million dollars? Do you know how much she earns at Echo Magazine? Just a few thousand dollars. After a few years, with living expenses, she wouldn't have saved even half of fifty thousand dollars."

"We don't care. Even if Quinlan doesn't have that much money, she's worth a lot. Selling her could fetch tens of thousands of dollars."

Hearing this, I couldn't help but clench my fists.

Their idea of value was essentially selling their daughter.

And given the people they knew, anyone willing to pay that much for Quinlan would either be someone with serious issues or an old man.

Marlowe probably thought the same, so she asked, "Are you trying to sell your daughter? You're so heartless, I doubt Quinlan is even your daughter."

Quinlan's mother, Yasmin, now had the same expression as Yosef after his scolding.

She chimed in, "That's her fate. If she can't carry on the family line, at least she can be sold to get some money for her brother. That's the only contribution she can make to the family. It's not a waste that I raised her."

"Anyway, we're here today. Either you tell us where she is, or you pay up."

Seeing that Yasmin and Yosef were unreasonable, Marlowe decided to leave.

But Yosef blocked her car, not letting her go. "You can't leave. No money, no address, you're not going anywhere."

"Move! You're not my family. Why should I give you money? This isn't your rural hometown. What if I insist on leaving? If you keep blocking me, don't blame me for what happens next." Marlowe threatened, clearly frustrated.

She genuinely wished Yasmin and Yosef would disappear, her anger palpable.

Yosef sneered, "You're an editor-in-chief, yet you're so heartless and unreasonable. You called us here, so you have to take responsibility."

Yasmin, with her rough skin and carefree attitude, was plump with a belly like a swimming ring.

Her eyes were almost slits from her weight, but she quickly calculated and moved closer, her belly jiggling. She grabbed Marlowe's hand, "My dear daughter, you should care about your parents! Look at us, traveling for hours, our old bodies are falling apart. How can you not feel for us? We haven't had a bite to eat or a drop to drink. At least feed us!"

She acted as if Marlowe was their real daughter.

Marlowe's face changed immediately. "What nonsense are you talking about? You're not my parents!"

She was finally scared. These two were too difficult to deal with, blocking her from both sides, making it impossible to leave.

Yasmin's hands, rough from farm work, were strong, gripping Marlowe's delicate hand painfully.

Angrily, Marlowe tried to shake off her hand.

With Yasmin's strength, it should have been impossible for Marlowe to break free.

But as she did, Yasmin fell to the ground, wailing loudly, "My dear daughter, even if you don't want to see us, you shouldn't treat us like this. We didn't come to bother you on purpose. We just missed you. If you want us to leave, we'll go."

"Dear daughter, don't be mad. It's our fault. We're sorry. Can we at least see you a bit longer? We missed you so much." Yosef, understanding Yasmin's intent, played along perfectly.

I had to admire their acting skills. There was no sign of pretense, just "genuine emotion."

And the people around believed Yosef and Yasmin. Their travel-worn appearance contrasted sharply with Marlowe's designer clothes, making them seem like the victims.

Their tears seemed so real, making them appear more sympathetic.

Most people sided with the underdog, so they took Yosef and Yasmin's side, criticizing Marlowe.

"Those poor people, raising such an ungrateful daughter."

"Exactly. Look at her fancy clothes and car, while her parents are in rags. They came all this way to see her, and she treats them like this. It's disgusting."

"I heard she's an editor-in-chief. News is supposed to be about truth. How can someone like her write anything truthful or good?"

"She's just a small-time editor now, and she's already so cold-hearted to her parents. Having someone like her in journalism is a disgrace."

The crowd's comments grew louder and harsher.