The Price of Being Right

Tyler Whitmore saw me turn away without resisting, as if his anger had nothing to push against. It only made him more relentless.

He picked up the medicinal meal, covered his nose in disgust, and dumped it straight into the trash can beside him.

"It reeks of cheapness. Just smelling it makes me sick. Grandma's only been fooled by you because she's too kind."

The butler looked at the dregs in the trash can, then looked at the back of my hand with heartache.

My hand was covered in dense burn blisters.

I'd woken up at four every morning to simmer that medicine over a small clay stove.

The rare wild herbs inside had drained every dollar of scholarship money and part-time income I'd earned as a medical student.

When Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore heard the commotion and came over, they didn't stop him. Instead, they immediately took sides.

"Julian, Tyler suffered so much out there before coming home. You're the older brother. You should give in to him a little."

Mrs. Whitmore frowned and waved away the herbal smell in the air.

"Besides, Tyler's right. Those folk remedies were never reliable. Stop using these mystical little tricks to show off in front of Grandma. From now on, listen to the overseas nutritionist."

Show off?

If I hadn't wanted to repay the Whitmores for taking me in years ago, why would I have worked myself like a servant in this house, exhausting myself to suppress the strange toxin inside Grandma's body?

Irene accepted the slice of bluefin tuna sashimi Tyler handed her and swallowed it.

She looked at me coldly and said, "Julian, the Whitmore family raised you. We fed you and clothed you. Don't be ungrateful.

"Tyler is Whitmore blood. Everything he does is for my own good."

I watched her swallow that intensely cold, triggering food, and my gaze went completely cold.

"Fine. Since you all think seafood can cure illness, I'll leave.

"I just hope you won't regret it."

After I said that, I turned and went straight upstairs.

Five minutes later, I came down carrying an old canvas bag.

Tyler was waiting in the living room with Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore. When he saw I was really leaving, he suddenly rushed forward and snatched my canvas bag.

"Who knows whether you've stolen anything from our house?"

He yanked hard, turned the bag upside down, and dumped everything onto the marble floor.

What fell out wasn't a single expensive watch.

There were only bags of herb slices I'd cut through sleepless nights, a few bottles of homemade salve, and a medical book worn soft at the corners.

Tyler kicked the herbs aside in disgust.

"What the hell is this? Moldy roots and stinking mud?

"Julian Whitmore, is this the garbage you've been feeding my grandmother?"

Mr. Whitmore covered his nose in revulsion, pointed at the herbs on the floor, and snapped, "Every month, you ask the family for a hundred thousand dollars in nutrition expenses and claim you're buying premium supplements for Grandma. This is what you bought? These cheap market scraps?

"Did you pocket the rest of the money?"