She squeezed my hand. “No boasting,” she agreed. “No showing off. We build something better. Something lasting.”
We fell asleep holding onto that promise like a rope.
The next morning, reality tested it immediately.
When we returned to our Chicago apartment building, my parents and Trent were waiting in the lobby like a trap.
They looked furious, tense, righteous. My father’s eyes were wild with entitlement.
They marched toward us as soon as they saw us.
My mother didn’t bother with fake tenderness this time. “We want our share,” she snapped. “That money should be split four ways. That’s only fair.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t raise my voice.
I looked at them and said, “If you think you have a case, take it to court. I’m not giving you a penny.”
My father exploded, calling me greedy, selfish, ungrateful, shouting about how he “raised” me, how I “owed” him. Trent chimed in with insults, trying to claw back the power he’d lost the night before.
I didn’t flinch.
I took Ivy’s hand, took Hazel’s, and walked into the elevator without another word.
Security stepped between us and them at the last second when my father lunged forward.