"Damn... fck."
She cursed, "Stealing food is one thing; I'll just pretend I fed it to a dog. Now he's eyeing our winter money?"
"Good... very good... Frank Gallagher... you... you..." She searched her brain for the most vicious words she could think of, but finally only squeezed out one sentence through her teeth.
"You damn parasite!"
Fiona looked up at Shane again. "Are you sure the money is all there? Did you count it?"
Only after Shane nodded affirmatively again, saying "I checked it all, not a cent missing," did she barely relax a little.
"Fine, Frank, stealing the kids' winter money. If he stole it, we'd have to tighten our belts again this winter."
She looked at Shane. "Didn't you always yell about wanting to beat him up? I won't stop you this time. But before you do, let's move that money to a safer place, somewhere he can't find."
Shane took the opportunity to say: "Let me hide the winter fund. I guarantee he won't find it. When you need to use it, just tell me."
Fiona hesitated, then nodded quickly. She trusted Shane.
"Alright, keep the money with you. Remember to hide it well, okay? I don't want to be scared again."
Shane nodded: "No problem, absolutely hidden well."
He deposited it directly into the System. Frank could dig three feet into the ground of this Gallagher house and still wouldn't find this money.
"Sigh—"
Fiona sighed deeply, deeper exhaustion revealing in her eyes.
No one knew what she was thinking. She didn't speak again, just turned back to the sink and continued washing vegetables.
Shane leaned on the door frame, looking at her somewhat frail shoulders, feeling a bit stuffy in his heart.
Sure enough, the current Fiona still had deep feelings for Frank.
In the original plot, the winter fund was stolen by Frank and Monica. She just cursed a few times, then internalized the stress, doing nothing to them.
It was the same now. Just a few harsh words, and the matter was passed over.
But he wasn't surprised. After all, Fiona was like this now.
"Hey, Fiona,"
Shane spoke up, interrupting his thoughts. "There's another thing I want to tell you."
"What is it?"
Fiona didn't turn back this time, her hands not stopping.
Shane coughed. "Do you want to come set up the breakfast stall with me?"
Fiona turned her head sideways. "Set up breakfast..." She repeated these words, then shook her head.
"God, my dear little Shane, my brother, when did you become a little capitalist who squeezes his own sister? It's only the second day, and you're planning to make your old sister get up at dawn to work for you?"
Without waiting for Shane's answer, she turned back and scrubbed a carrot vigorously.
Fiona started "imparting experience" while washing vegetables.
"Calculate it yourself. How much money can you make in a morning now? Deduct your 'low cost' ingredients from that little breakfast income, deduct gas and electricity costs, and Kevin's share... what's left, at most we split fifty-fifty."
She threw the carrot into the basin, turned around, and looked at Shane with a "you are too naive" expression.
"What finally lands in my pocket probably isn't even as much as the tips I earn pouring a drink for those drunks at 'Go Go' and listening to them ramble for half an hour."
Shane opened his mouth, wanting to defend himself. "It's not as miserable as you say. I made—"
Before he could finish, Fiona raised her hand to interrupt him.
"Sometimes I drag these bones to lie down at two in the morning. And you want to drag me out of bed at five or six to fry burgers in the cold wind?"
Fiona took a step closer, narrowing her eyes slightly, her tone half-true, half-joking:
"Confess honestly, are you dragging your sister to start a business, or are you trying to murder me so you can inherit the few shirts in my closet that don't have holes yet?"
Fiona wasn't intentionally discouraging Shane.
In the variety of part-time jobs she had tried over the years to support this family, she wasn't unfamiliar with street stalls.
She knew the tricks inside too well.
Don't listen to some people blowing hot air about how much money breakfast stalls make; it's all just appearances.
Doing breakfast in America... deduct all visible and invisible costs, the risk of theft, losses from bad weather, and having to glance at the street corner from time to time to guard against enforcement teams and health inspections clearing the stall...
In the end, tired as a dog, but what lands in hand is just that little bit.
Fiona directly gave an estimate based on her experience.
"Based on my experience, even if you max out in a morning, you'll sell a little over a hundred bucks. Optimistically, you can keep sixty or seventy in profit. Kevin takes ten percent, leaving sixty. We split it again..."
She shrugged, a gesture full of defense for the value of her labor. "Getting thirty bucks would be a stretch for me. Might as well sleep at home, save getting sick from the cold and having to buy medicine."
Thirty bucks. For her, that was earning by washing dishes for two more hours or enduring two greasy customers groping her.
Thirty bucks wasn't worth sacrificing her precious sleep time. Shortening her pitiful sleep time further, maybe one day she would go see God before Frank.
Listening to the amount she finally analyzed, Shane couldn't help rolling his eyes in his heart.
Thirty bucks? Add a zero and it's more like it.
But Fiona had already put a big question mark on this "cooperation invitation" in her heart. Her grassroots working experience judged this as an option with "extremely low cost-performance ratio."
After saying this, she picked up a potato and started peeling.
Fiona considered this a polite refusal. Deep down, she didn't think Shane's small business (in her expectation) could afford her wages.
But she suddenly felt her refusal just now seemed too realistic.
After all, this was her brother doing legitimate work (homework ghostwriting didn't count).
So Fiona changed her tone. "However, I can help you organize the things needed for the next day a night in advance. Or help you wash vegetables, cut tomatoes, and the like. This is my last mercy, Shane Gallagher!"
This sentence made Shane feel that pulling out money now seemed to lack the fun of a "counterattack."
He decided to wait a bit.
Fiona turned her head and pointed at her dark circles with a wet finger.
"Don't expect me to appear on the street at six to blow in the wind with you. My soul, my life, needs those few hours of precious sleep to be saved!"
Shane stood a bit straighter, one hand already reaching into his jacket pocket. Looking at her exaggerated expression pointing at her dark circles, he couldn't help laughing:
"Okay, okay, okay, Ms. Fiona, I will respect your right to sleep."
He paused, adding, "But if one day you suddenly find your conscience and decide to work overtime for free, I absolutely won't refuse."
"Screw you!"
Immediately after, Fiona switched to strategic advisor mode and began providing alternative plans for Shane.
"If you really want someone to share the load, go fool Carl," she gestured.
"Give him a dollar and praise him as the 'Street Marketing Director,' and he can shout loud enough to shake the sky for you. Or, tell Debbie you'll buy her a few shiny new hair clips if you make money, and she can count change for you faster than a bank teller."
Then Fiona remembered the other two laborers in the family.
"Or Ian and Lip. But with Lip's personality, not roasting you twice would be considered good. As for Ian, he has training and work, time is tight too..."
Fiona was rambling on when suddenly her vision went green.
A large stack of green banknotes was handed right under her eyelids, blocking all the words she still wanted to say.