chapter 1

Half a month ago, I took my father to the hospital for a follow-up.

“He doesn’t have much time left. Spend more time with the old man.” This was what the doctor told me privately when my father wasn’t around.

By then, I had already started preparing to “fraudulently claim” his Pension.

To hide my father’s impending death from him.

First, I dismissed the Caregiver under the pretense of “taking care of him myself.”

This way, I cut off all social connections related to my father in advance.

Besides, when my father was younger, his fiery temper had offended quite a few people at work. Now that he’s retired, even fewer people would want to visit him.

As for the neighbors we used to know, they’d all moved out of the old building, replaced now by waves of young, indifferent tenants.

The only unpredictable factor I worried about was my sister.

She works in Beijing. She had a falling out with our father in middle school, and since college, she rarely came home.

I actually hoped she would never come back.

Because of this, I checked her social media every day to see where she was.

Only when I saw her location wasn’t in our city did I finally relax.

My Wife reminded me that I must be out of my mind, that I didn’t need to be so paranoid.

But I still repeatedly ordered my Wife not to let anyone into our home, not even the meter reader.

To that end, I installed a surveillance camera at the door. Whenever someone appeared on camera, my phone would send me an alert.

I guarded my father’s death like a money tree.

Nowadays, the economy is declining, and poverty and unemployment spread like infectious diseases, from person to person.

Other than grabbing money this way, I had no other options.

But one day at lunch, as usual, I idly checked the surveillance camera.

The Caregiver appeared at my door.

She knocked: “Are you home?”

I opened the door a crack, pretending I’d just seen her: “Hey, what’s up?”

“I want to see the old man.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Is the old man home?”

I didn’t know whether to say yes or no, afraid she’d ask for something next.

Seeing my silence, she said, “Why don’t we talk inside?”

I deliberately got angry: “I’ve already paid you. Let’s part on good terms. What are you doing?”

She seemed to have expected this, and her tears fell right on cue: “You don’t know, he owes me money. Your whole family bullies me.”

Neighbors going up and down the stairs saw this scene and glanced over, making me anxious. I hurriedly let her in, afraid she’d make an even bigger scene.

“He said, if I touched him, he’d pay me. At first, he paid right after, but later it was on credit. You can’t just ignore the debt, can you?”

She sat on the sofa, talking about it as casually as if celery had gone up thirty cents today.

My mother passed away early, and later my father, with his bad temper, never found another partner. Now, his romantic debts had come back to haunt us.

“He’s not here. Even if you say this is true, I can’t acknowledge it.”

“Then I’ll just wait here for him to come back. If the son doesn’t care, let’s see if the father does.” The usually pleasant Caregiver had completely changed.

I stood in front of the Refrigerator, clutching the door, not daring to move: “So how much do you want?”

“Five thousand! He promised me. I was too embarrassed to mention it when I left.”

She wasn’t shy at all.

“You know what our family’s situation is. My dad insisted on hiring a Caregiver instead of letting us take care of him. There’s no surplus at home each month.” I tried to bargain.

“What’s that smell in the house?” She changed the subject to brush me off.

“The house is fine!” Seeing her heading toward my father’s room, I got up to block her.

“Did you remember to change the old man’s adult diapers? Did you forget?”

“None of your business.”

We argued, sweat breaking out on my forehead.

My father’s room had now been turned into a nursery, with tatami mats and all kinds of children’s toys.

I absolutely couldn’t let her get suspicious, or it would become leverage against me.

But fate seemed to be playing tricks-the doorbell rang.

I checked the surveillance on my phone. It was my sister.

Her hair was in waves, she was blowing bubble gum, and she stood at the door with a suitcase.

She pounded on the door with her fist: “Open up! I know you’re all home!”

“Who’s outside?” The Caregiver stopped in her tracks.

I was frantic, wishing I could hide her in the Refrigerator too.

“Let her in to judge. I’m not afraid of embarrassment. Who told you not to pay me?” The Caregiver was getting bold.

Her words snapped me out of it-might as well try anything now.

I knew my sister’s temper-she was even more stubborn than my father, and ten times tougher than the Caregiver.