As the Canary Contract Expired, I Left New York Carrying My Father’s Ashes Chapter 03
The next morning, I packed only my documents, my plane ticket, and a few pieces of clothing that belonged to me.
When my phone rang, I was standing at the entrance of the townhouse in the Upper East Side, ready to leave.
The funeral home called to tell me that my father’s old coat, the one he had loved most while he was alive, had been repaired and was ready for pickup.
“The urn is ready as well. You can take it with you when you come,” the funeral home employee said. “Miss Johnson, it’s raining today. Please be careful on your way.”
It was nothing more than a routine reminder.
Yet my eyes suddenly burned.
Ever since my father was admitted to the hospital, every conversation I had with anyone had revolved around money.
Medical bills.
Overdue payments.
Medication being withheld.
Requests for more deposits.
For seven days, that was all I had heard.
This was the first time someone had spoken to me without asking whether I could afford the next payment.
They had only asked whether I would be safe on the road.
I walked toward the gate, but two men in black suits stepped in front of me.
“Miss Johnson, Don Crawford gave instructions. You’re only allowed to attend Miss Foster’s art exhibition today.”
I looked at them steadily. “I’m going to the funeral home.”
The bodyguards exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“Please don’t make this difficult for us.”
I opened my ride-sharing app.
The payment failed.
My bank card, my secondary card, even my digital wallet had all been suspended.
I tried using my own personal account.
The screen displayed a notification.
Account frozen.
Three years ago, when I signed the agreement, Caleb had arranged for my private accounts to be linked to the Crawford family’s financial oversight system.
He had said it was only so he could conveniently handle my father’s medical expenses.
I called him.
“What is it?” he answered with a faint laugh. “You don’t even have enough money for a ride now? Did you finally learn how to lower your pride?”
I ignored the sarcasm.
“I need five hundred dollars.”
He scoffed.
“Come to Carol’s exhibition. Five hundred dollars? Five million dollars would be nothing.”
My voice remained calm.
“I’m going to pick up my father’s belongings.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
I gripped the handle of my suitcase tightly.
My voice turned hoarse.
“Take this five hundred dollars as the final payment for the three years I spent by your side. After this, we’re even.”
“Nancy.”
His voice turned cold.
“Are you really using your own father’s death as an excuse now? Looks like you truly don’t care whether he gets a proper burial.”
I closed my eyes.
I actually had my father’s death certificate in my pocket.
If I sent him a photo of it, every obstacle in front of me would disappear.
My fingers brushed against the paper.
But I pulled my hand back.
Before my father died, he had held my hand and told me one thing.
Never beg anyone again.
So even if I was standing in front of the wrath of the Crawford family’s Godfather, I had to keep my back straight.
“Come to the exhibition and apologize to Carol,” Caleb ordered. “Otherwise, you won’t get a single penny from me.”
The call ended.
The rain grew heavier.
I opened a resale app and listed the ruby necklace.
It was the necklace Caleb had purchased for $1.2 million at Christie’s half a year after we started dating.
That night, he had personally fastened it around my neck.
He said the ruby reminded him of the gemstone on the hair clip I had worn in my childhood photos.
He had looked at me and said:
[Nancy, you don’t have to envy anyone anymore. Whatever others have, you’ll have too. And whatever others don’t have, I’ll give to you.]
Back then, I believed him.
Now, I entered a selling price of twenty thousand dollars.
Within minutes, inquiries flooded in.
A professional appraisal representative arrived in person, verified the necklace’s authenticity, and eventually transferred fifty thousand dollars to my account.
Caleb’s bodyguards still respected the rules.
After all, in Caleb’s eyes, I was nothing more than a kept woman, a decorative bird trapped in a golden cage.
They didn’t dare stop the outside appraiser.
They didn’t dare snatch the necklace from my neck.
I used the money to call a car.
Before getting in, I sent the item inventory agreement I had signed three years ago to Caleb’s attorney.
I clearly stated that the final sale amount of the necklace would be included in the asset settlement.
As the car drove out of the estate, Caleb’s call came through.
“You sold my necklace for twenty thousand dollars just to humiliate me?”
“Fifty thousand,” I corrected him. “And I’ll pay back the rest.”
His breathing grew heavier.
“Fine.”
His voice was filled with anger.
“Aren’t you the one acting so strong? I just contacted the family hospital. Without my signature, they won’t be allowed to give your father even a single drop of IV nutrition.”
I said nothing.
He let out a cold laugh.
“I want to see how long your pride can keep that dying father of yours alive.”
“Caleb Crawford.”
For the first time, I called him by his full name.
He suddenly fell silent.
I spoke slowly, each word clear.
“Remember what you said today.”
Then I ended the call.
Two hours later, I arrived at the funeral home and received my father’s urn.
The staff handed me his old coat as well.
The stitches were neat.
The torn sleeve had been carefully repaired.
I paid the remaining preservation and cremation fees and signed the receipt.
When I wrote the final signature, my hand trembled so badly that I could barely hold the pen.