When my son was dying in an Alaskan blizzard, my mother called asking for $20,000 to “save” her Birkin bag. I begged her to repay the $150,000 she owed me so I could save him. She scoffed, “He’s just adopted—let him die. You can always get another.” She thought that was the end of it… until 2 a.m., when hotel security dragged them out into the freezing streets.

I hit the call button next to my mother’s name. The international ringtone echoed against my ear. Each second felt like an hour. Each ring was a lifetime Julian was losing.

Eleanor answered on the fourth ring.

The background noise filtering through the speaker was a jarring, sickening contrast to the beeping heart monitors in the clinic. I heard the elegant strains of a live string quartet, the clinking of crystal champagne flutes, and the lively, arrogant chatter of the Parisian elite.

“Evelyn, darling!” Eleanor’s voice trilled through the speaker, slurred with expensive vintage champagne and dripping with profound, superficial elation. “You simply will not believe the night we are having! Paris is absolutely divine!”

“Mom,” I gasped, a raw, jagged sob tearing at my throat. “Mom, listen to me. Julian is dying. His appendix ruptured. We are trapped in a blizzard in Alaska and I need fifty thousand dollars right now for a specialized alpine rescue helicopter. The emergency fund is empty. Where is the money?!”

Eleanor let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It was the sound of profound annoyance, as if I had interrupted her spa treatment to complain about the weather.

“Evelyn, please, stop being so dreadfully hysterical,” Eleanor scolded me, her tone dripping with aristocratic condescension. “Chloe and I are at a highly exclusive, invite-only auction for Fashion Week. Chloe has caught the eye of a French Count, and she absolutely needed a status symbol to secure her entry into his inner circle. We just won a breathtaking, diamond-encrusted Hermès Himalaya Birkin bag! It’s the rarest bag on earth. It’s an investment piece for your sister’s future.”

My vision blurred with a hot, blinding, murderous rage. “You stole a hundred and fifty thousand dollars from our emergency medical fund to buy a handbag?! While my son is suffocating on his own toxins?!”

Another voice drifted through the speaker, shrill and panicky. It was Chloe.

“Tell her to fix the stupid credit card, Mom!” Chloe yelled, leaning close to the phone’s microphone. “The auction director says the transaction for the security transport is being flagged! I am not losing this Birkin over a banking error! The Count is watching us!”