Chapter 6 — 120 Thousand Yuan And A Divorce

Where my mother lives... is the dormitory where I grew up as a child. She sold her old house and rented a one-room, one-guest house nearby, saying it was temporary. As soon as I entered, the house smelled faintly of warm milk. Aunt Truong has already lit the stove and is preparing to cook millet porridge for me. My mother took the baby from my arms and pushed me towards the bed.

"Lie down, you can't stand for too long during quarantine."

I don't protest. Obediently lie down, looking at the unfamiliar ceiling. This place... is no longer the old house. The old house... is what my father left behind. It's where my mother lived alone for thirty years. She sold it. Exchange for 120 thousand yuan. Then pass it all on to me.

"YES." She replied, bowing her head to look at the baby, her voice gentle.

“That house… don't you regret it?”

She was silent for a moment.

"What a pity, the house is dead, the new person is alive."

She looked up and smiled. But in the wrinkles at the corners of my eyes... hide too many unspeakable things.

“I just feel… you must have something up your sleeve.”

She stopped for a moment, her voice lowered.

"I only have one daughter, you. Your father left early, I have no courage, no support, can't give you anything. All my life... that house is the only thing I can leave for you."

The bridge of my nose felt hot, but I didn't say anything.

“Nam Nhiem, you did very well today.”

She suddenly spoke, her voice firm.

“What?” I was a bit surprised.

“You did very well today.” She repeated, "I know you're upset, but you don't panic, don't cry, take it step by step... I feel sorry for you."

I turned away and took a deep breath. Tears still couldn't be held back, sliding down the bridge of my nose. I used the corner of the blanket to wipe it away, not letting her see. Aunt Truong brought in a bowl of porridge. Seeing me like that, she didn't say anything. She just put the bowl of porridge on the head of the bed and gently held my hand.

“Eat something, it's okay to be hungry.”

I sat up and took the bowl. In the bowl is white porridge, with a few salted apricots on top. My favorite way to eat since childhood. I took a sip. But inside... it warmed up a bit.

“Mom, I received a text message.”

I put down the bowl and gave her the phone. She lowered her head to look, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“Who is Lam Vy?”

“Chu Minh Khai's college friend.”

My mother returned the phone and was silent for a moment.

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait for the bank to send Chu Minh Hao's query record.” I looked down at the bowl of porridge, "If it's... not just my account..."

I don't say it all. But my mother understands. Her expression darkened.

“You mean… Chu Minh Khai once asked him to look up someone else's account?”

“Not sure if checking the account.” I said slowly, “But I need that record… to know.”

Aunt Truong, sitting next to her, interjected.

“What if you know?”

I looked at her. She sighed.

"That's all I said. Nhiem Nhiem, you know what you're doing, don't force yourself too much."

“I know.”

I picked up my phone, saved that strange number, and noted two words: "Waiting for investigation". Then I opened the contacts, clicked on a number. It's my college roommate, To Thanh. She is currently working as an assistant at a law office. The phone was quickly picked up.

"Hello, Nhiem Nhiem? What are you calling so late?"

“To Thanh, I need your help with something.” I lowered my voice, "Do you know anyone who does digital forensics? Like tracing phones and money flows."

The other end of the line was silent for two seconds.

"What is up?"

“I need to check some things, but don't know where to start.”

"Okay." She didn't ask much, "I'll ask for you tomorrow. Where are you?

“At Mom's house.”

“I'll come look for you tomorrow.”

I breathed out lightly. Hanging up the phone, I leaned back against the pillow. The baby slept in his mother's arms, his face wrinkled, his mouth moving slightly, as if dreaming of something. I looked at it for a long time. I give Chu Minh Khai three days. But I won't sit around waiting for him to open his mouth. These three days… I have my own work to do. The next morning, the email from the bank arrived. Sent by Assistant Ly, the attached file is a PDF, clearly stating: "Account operation record". I handed my child to my mother, sat up, and opened the file. The first page is my account query history. Date, time, staff code... all clearly recorded. Chu Minh Hao checked my account three times. The first time… was two months ago. I stared at that timeline, frozen for a long time. Two months ago. At that time... my mother had not yet sold the house. When did you start selling houses? I thought for a moment. Then my heart... sank. Three months ago, my mother told me that she wanted to move to a smaller place. The old house was too large, and living alone felt empty. At that time I didn't care. I just thought she was talking nonsense. But now I remember... That was the time when she started contacting brokers and preparing to sell the house. Chu Minh Hao checked my account two months ago. At that time, my account was nothing special. Just a normal salary coming in and going out. He looked it up... Who did he tell? I continued scrolling down. The second lookup was a month ago, the third time was yesterday. After less than twenty minutes of my mother's money being in her account, I took a photo of the entire file, saved it carefully, and then turned to the second page. The second page made my fingers stop. It's no longer my own account history. It's a summary of Chu Minh Hao's operations. I understand what Assistant Ly means. She is not the type of person to do things half-heartedly. If she wanted to make a settlement, she would lay everything out in front of me to prove that the bank is cooperating. I slowly pulled it down. In addition to my account, Chu Minh Hao also checked two other accounts. One is by Luu Que Phuong. The other account… I don't recognize it. I continued looking. The heart rate begins to deviate. The name of that account owner is... Lam Vy.