I turned eighteen on a Tuesday.simo No cake. No card. Not even a half-hearted “happy birthday.” Just my father sitting at the kitchen table, his wife stirring sugar into her mug, and my stepbrother leaning back in his chair with that look people get when they already know how the story ends

“From what?”

Richard looked directly into my eyes.

“Your family.”

The words made my chest tighten.

“What are you talking about?”

Richard placed one final document in front of me.

This one wasn’t from the estate.

It was a bank statement.

My bank statement.

My old savings account.

The account containing the three thousand dollars my father had taken.

I stared at the numbers.

Then I noticed something.

There were transactions I didn’t recognize.

“What’s this?”

Richard pointed at the withdrawals.

“Your father didn’t spend your money on your brother’s applications.”

My jaw tightened.

“Then what did he spend it on?”

Richard turned the page.

“Legal fees.”

I looked at him.

“Legal fees for what?”

“His attempt to gain control of your grandfather’s company.”

I felt something inside me crack.

He had taken every dollar I had.

Not for my brother.

Not for rent.