There it was.
“Hundreds?” he said.
I said nothing.
His anger vanished.
Replaced by calculation.
“How much?”
I picked up my phone.
“Goodnight.”
He stepped around the table.
“How much, Sylvie?”
Marisa stood between us.
“Dad, stop.”
“Move.”
“No.”
It was the first time I had ever seen my sister oppose him.
He looked genuinely shocked.
I put on my coat.
Mom followed me to the hallway.
“Sylvie.”
I turned.
For one fragile second, I hoped she would apologize.
Instead she said:
“You need to think carefully before letting outsiders control what belongs to this family.”
And just like that, whatever remained between us died.
“You mean Grandma’s attorneys?”
“People will use you.”
“Who?”
“Lawyers.
Corporations.
Men who tell you you’re brilliant because they want access to the trust.”
I almost smiled.
“You know what’s interesting, Mom?”
“What?”
“Wexford offered me nine million dollars before they discovered Grandma was connected to me.”
