The Burn of Greed

Chapter 1: The Flame and the Fortune

The dining room was silent, save for the rhythmic, metallic click-clack of my vintage Zippo lighter.

My son, Logan Hale, and his wife, Madison Carter, stared at the tiny flame like moths drawn to a bug zapper, hypnotized by the promise of destruction. But their eyes weren’t really on the fire. They were glued to the rectangular piece of paper I held delicately in my other hand, just inches from the heat.

A lottery ticket.

The winning numbers for the Grand Prize: $400,000. Ten billion dong. Enough money to pay off their suffocating gambling debts, buy a new house in a gated community, and fuel their vanity for another decade. It was salvation printed on cheap thermal paper.

“Mom,” Logan said, his voice trembling like a plucked violin string. He wiped a thin sheen of cold sweat from his upper lip. “Put the lighter down. Please. You’re… you’re shaking. You might drop it.”

“Drop it?” I repeated softly, staring into the heart of the flame. “Or burn it?”

“Don’t play games with us, old woman,” Madison hissed. She was gripping her fork so hard her knuckles were white, looking ready to snap the metal in two. “Everyone in the neighborhood knows you won. The station owner confirmed it on Facebook. Hand it over. Now. It’s family money.”

“Why?” I asked, looking up slowly. My eyes met hers, and I let the contempt I had hidden for years finally surface. “So you can buy another luxury car while I eat instant noodles in the back room? So you can send Liam to boarding school just to get him out of your hair because ‘parenting is hard’?”

I looked at my grandson, Liam Hale. Seven years old, sitting quietly at the end of the long mahogany table. Small for his age, with big, fearful eyes constantly scanning the room. He hated these dinners. He hated the way his parents yelled at me. He poked at his rice quietly, head down, trying to make himself invisible.

“We take care of you!” Madison shouted, slamming her hand on the table hard enough to rattle the silverware. “We let you live in this house! We feed you! We clothe you! You owe us!”

“This is my house, Madison,” I said calmly, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “My husband, Robert Hale, built this house brick by brick. You moved in when you lost your apartment. And you feed me leftovers.”

I moved the ticket closer to the flame. The edge of the paper curled slightly, turning brown from the heat.

“NO!” Logan jumped up, knocking his chair over with a crash. “Mom, stop! That’s half a million dollars! Are you insane?”

“It’s evil,” I whispered, watching the smoke rise. “It’s turned you into monsters. Maybe if I burn it, you’ll become human again. Maybe you’ll remember how to work for a living.”

“Give it to me!” Madison screamed, her voice cracking under the strain.

She didn’t wait for permission. She didn’t even wait for Logan. She lunged across the table, scattering plates and knocking over crystal glasses. She didn’t go for the ticket; she went for me.

Her fingers, adorned with sharp, rhinestone-encrusted fake nails, grabbed a fistful of my gray hair. She yanked my head back violently.

“Aaah!” I cried as my chair tipped backward.

I hit the hard wooden floor, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. Madison was on me instantly, her knee pressing into my chest, crushing my ribs. Her hand twisted my hair, pulling my scalp until I thought it would tear.

“You senile old hag!” she shrieked, flecks of spit hitting my cheek. “Drop it! Give me the ticket or I’ll break your fingers one by one!”

“Madison, stop!” Logan yelled, but he didn’t pull her off. He didn’t help me. He was on all fours, scrambling around like a starving dog searching for scraps—looking for the ticket I had dropped when I fell.

He was searching for money, not helping the mother who gave him life.

“Let go of my Grandma!”

The voice was small, high-pitched—yet fierce.

Suddenly, a wave of heat and liquid crashed down on Madison’s back.

Chapter 2: The Scalding Truth

“AAAAHHH!” Madison screamed, the sound tearing through the house.

She let go of my hair instantly and rolled off me, clawing frantically at her back, writhing on the floor like a wounded animal. “It burns! It burns!”

Liam stood there, holding the empty ceramic tureen that had held the boiling vegetable soup. Steam still rose from the pot. His face was red, streaked with tears and snot, but he stood his ground.

“Get away from her!” Liam shouted, raising the heavy pot like a weapon. “Don’t you touch her! I hate you!”

“My back! Logan, help me! The brat burned me!” Madison wailed, curling into a fetal position.

Logan hesitated—then looked at the lottery ticket that had fluttered under the antique sideboard.

Greed won. As always.

He lunged for it.

“Got it!” Logan shouted triumphantly, clutching the paper to his chest as though it were his newborn child. “I got it! Oh thank God, it’s safe!”

I sat up, groaning, straightening my blouse with trembling hands. My scalp throbbed, but my mind had never been clearer. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my Zippo lighter again.

“Logan,” I said.

He looked at me, grinning wildly. “It’s over, Mom. We have it. We’re rich. You can’t stop us now.”

“Look at your son,” I said, pointing at Liam—still trembling, still holding my defense in his tiny hands. “Look at your wife on the floor.”

“She’s fine,” Logan scoffed. “Just a little burn. With this money, we can buy her a whole new back.”

I crawled toward the fireplace—the decorative gas one they had lit for “ambience.”

“What are you doing?” Logan asked, eyes narrowing.

“You have the ticket,” I said. “But do you have the right one?”

He frowned, looked at the ticket, checked the numbers twice.

“It’s real,” he said. “Stop bluffing.”

“Is it?”

I reached into my bra and pulled out another ticket.

Identical.

Logan’s face drained of color.

“I went to the library this morning,” I said softly. “Five high-resolution photocopies. You’re holding copy number three.”

“No…” Logan whispered. “No, that’s impossible. It feels real.”

“Does it?” I asked.

“And if you want to be sure…”

“Give me that one!” Logan shouted, scrambling toward me. “GIVE IT TO ME!”

But I was already next to the fire.

“This is the one,” I said.

And I dropped it.

The paper touched the flame—

And vanished into curling black ash.

Madison screamed. Logan collapsed. The room shook with their misery.

“It was ten billion dong!” Logan roared. “You burned ten billion dong!”

“It was a photocopy too,” I said.

Chapter 3: The Real Fortune

The room went silent.

Dead silent.

Madison stopped screaming mid-sob. Logan looked at me as if seeing a ghost, confusion warring with desperate hope.

“What?” Logan choked out.

“I said,” I repeated slowly, “that was a photocopy too.”

He blinked rapidly, as if trying to force the world to make sense. “Then where—Mom… where’s the real one?”

I stood up, brushing off my skirt, and walked toward Liam. I rested my hand on his trembling shoulder.

“The real ticket,” I said, “was signed into a trust fund at 9:00 AM this morning. I met the lawyer at the coffee shop. It’s in a bank vault downtown.”

Logan froze.

“The sole beneficiary of the trust,” I continued, stroking Liam’s hair, “is Liam Hale.”

Liam looked up at me, shocked, tears still drying on his cheeks.

Logan shook his head violently. “No. No, Mom. That’s… that’s insane. You can’t do that! We need that money!”

“You wanted that money,” I corrected. “You never needed it. But Liam does.”

Madison stared at me from the floor, her eyes wild. “You gave it… to the kid?”

“I gave it to the only person in this house who protected someone today,” I said. “To the only one in this family who hasn’t lost his humanity.”

Logan stepped forward desperately. “Okay, Mom—fine. Okay. We… we overreacted. We got stressed. You know how debts can make people act crazy. Just… dissolve the trust. Give us access. Let’s talk this out.”

I shook my head. “No.”

He paled. “NO? Mom, I’m your son!”

“You were,” I said. “Before greed hollowed you out.”

I took a slow breath.

“The trust also includes a clause,” I added. “A Bad Faith Clause. If Liam is removed from my custody… if anything suspicious happens to me… if I ‘fall’ down the stairs or die suddenly… every cent goes to charity.”

“Charity?!” Madison rasped, her burned back trembling. “You’d give it all to strangers before giving it to your own family?!”

I looked at her with cold clarity.

“You are not my family.”

Madison gasped harshly, like the air had been punched from her lungs.

Logan stared at me, his eyes red and furious. “Mom… please. We can fix this. We can work this out.”

“Pack your bags,” I said simply. “Both of you.”

Logan stared at me, speechless.

“You have one hour to leave my house. The trust pays for my home security system and private caregivers now. I don’t need you. I don’t want you here.”

“Mom!” he pleaded.

Before I could answer, a small, steady voice cut through the room.

“Get out.”

We all turned to Liam.

His voice was quiet but strong—stronger than I had ever heard it.

“Get out of Grandma’s house,” Liam said again. “You hurt her. I don’t want you here.”

Logan looked at his son… and there was nothing behind that look. No apology. No remorse. No love. Only the realization that the last door he had was closing forever.

Madison clutched his arm. “Logan… let’s go. Now.”

They looked around the room one last time—at the fireplace ashes, at the overturned chairs, at the place where a family photo once hung.

They realized they had lost everything before dinner even started.

Logan helped Madison to her feet. They left without another word.

The door slammed shut.

The house was finally quiet.

I knelt beside Liam and gently took the heavy empty soup pot from his hands, setting it aside. His small body shook as I wrapped my arms around him.

“You hungry?” I asked softly.

“A little,” he sniffed.

“Let’s order pizza,” I said, wiping the tear streaks from his cheeks. “Pepperoni. Extra cheese.”

A tiny smile flickered across his face.

“Can we… can we get extra cheese?” he asked, voice wobbly.

I kissed his forehead.

“Baby,” I whispered, “we can get all the cheese in the world.”

And for the first time in years—

the house felt like home again.