My dad dumped me on the highway in my cap and gown just to make room for my sister’s giant orange Hermès box, then leaned over with a smirk and said, “Bentleys don’t carry failures—take the bus, Alyssa.”

“Send them up,” I replied calmly.

Patrick Grant stormed into the room first with a leather folder in his hand. Evelyn followed wearing oversized sunglasses while Courtney filmed another social media video behind them.

“You humiliated this family,” my father announced immediately.

“Did I,” I asked calmly.

“We are prepared to forgive your childish behavior,” my mother said sweetly.

My father opened the folder and pushed papers across my desk. “Courtney is launching a lifestyle brand called CourtCulture and she needs five million dollars in startup capital.”

“It is nothing for you,” Courtney added while rolling her eyes.

I studied the proposal filled with glamorous photographs and empty promises. Then I closed the folder slowly.

“I will consider it,” I said.

My father smiled with relief.

“But I will need complete access to the family financial records first,” I continued.

His smile vanished instantly. Greed trapped him.

He agreed.

Two days later forensic accountants delivered the results. My inheritance trust had been drained.

Three hundred thousand dollars had been withdrawn. The money had paid for a custom pink Bentley.

I quietly purchased the loan from the lender.

Then I sent a repossession truck.