I caught my son slipping his expensive dinner into our maid’s old bag. Furious, I demanded, “Why are you stealing from your own family?” He looked up with tears in his eyes and whispered, “Because she’s my real mom, and she only eats our leftovers.” My world spun as I looked at the hidden photo in her bag…

above the market rate. I prided myself on fair compensation. Was it gambling? Debt?

At two o’clock, the puzzle pieces violently shifted.

Grace was upstairs vacuuming the guest quarters. I was in the kitchen pouring coffee when her cheap, cracked smartphone—left carelessly on the granite counter—began to vibrate.

I glanced at the glowing screen.

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