Iris Held On to Her Paid-Off Title When Her Father Threatened to Call the Police

I leaned against the counter and looked at the glowing red clock on the microwave.

The electric account had been open since my second year as a junior engineer.

At nine o’clock, my father raised his smartphone to record a video, his heavy signet ring clicking against the plastic case as he adjusted his grip.

“Hold it right there, Chelsea,” he said, his loud voice echoing across the hardwood floor.

“Open the little velvet box first.”

Chelsea sat on the rug by the fireplace in her pink silk pajamas.