Chapter 2
Even though breakfast was just a simple shrimp porridge, it was the happiest meal I’d had in two lifetimes. I went to work in high spirits, Mom went off to meet friends, Dad went fishing, lively as ever.
But our joy was short-lived; the Police Station called. The Police said someone accused us of human trafficking!
My parents and I all rushed to the Police Station, exchanging knowing looks when we met at the entrance. We knew Phoebe Johnson could cause trouble, but not to this extent.
In the past life, she tried to prove she wasn’t biologically our parents’ with her physical traits. She’d say she had a mole none of us did or claim she had Type O blood while we were all Type A. She insisted her high intelligence meant she wasn’t a Johnson.
“I’m telling you, Johnson is too common a surname for me. My real name must be Parker or Green, and at worst, it’s Quinn!”
I thought she was just out of her mind from reading too many novels!
Her crazed image, etched in my mind through life and death, fueled my dislike for her.
The Police looked at Dad, then at my sister, who looked just like him, and frowned.
“Phoebe Johnson, didn’t you say the Johnson Family trafficked you? Do you have any evidence?”
My sister, oblivious to the Police’s doubt, sat down arrogantly.
“Evidence? Isn’t it your job to find evidence?”
“You’re taking taxpayer money but not doing your job. If you delay my recognition, I’ll report you!”
The Police were unfazed, turning to us instead.
Mom took out the birth certificate, household registration, and photos from the hospital after giving birth to my sister, speaking softly to the Police.
“Oh, the misfortune! My perfectly fine daughter, after graduation, got stressed from job hunting and started saying she’s a Noble Aristocrat.”
Dad sighed too.
“Given how we look, no one would believe we aren’t her real parents!”
My parents were known for their good looks in their youth. I inherited Mom’s oval face and widow’s peak, while my sister got Dad’s refined features. Her height of 5’8” did give her a certain heiress-like vibe.
But looking the part doesn’t mean being the part.
My sister, hearing our parents refuse to back her up, began shouting.
“You bad people, you just want to keep me here to extort my wealthy parents!”
“I’m telling you, losers will always be losers, no matter what you do! I’ll make sure you all end up in jail!”
The Police were stunned at my sister’s outburst.
Meanwhile, my parents and I were used to it, ignoring her completely.
I tapped my head, apologizing softly to the Police.
“Officer, my sister has some mental issues, please don’t mind her.”
In the end, with Mom’s ample evidence, the Police scolded my sister and sent us all out.
My sister pouted, shouting at us.
“I can’t possibly be related to you! Look at your loser vibes, how can you even compare to me?”
“And this crappy car worth only twenty grand? I’m embarrassed to ride it!”
My parents exchanged a glance, hurriedly got in the car, and locked the doors before she could get in.
“If it’s embarrassing, find your own way back!”
And with Mom’s urging, I slipped into the driver’s seat, buckled up, and followed Dad, speeding off.
My sister was so mad she nearly flew off the ground.