At 3:47 am my father summoned me for “a family emergency,” but when I saw the red convertible in the driveway and they asked for access to my accounts, I understood that they didn’t want to help me… they wanted to keep everything for themselves.

“I am not going to pay your mortgages or cover your credit cards or be your emergency exit,” I told them firmly. I informed them that if they wanted me in their lives it would have to be because they respected me and not because they wanted to use me.

My father pointed his finger at me and told me not to talk to him like I was superior because he made me who I am. “No, I made myself and that is why I decide who gets to be part of my life today,” I said before I walked out.

I cried for five minutes inside my Civic two blocks away before I wiped my face and drove to my office to meet my lawyer. My lawyer, Joanne, read the lawsuit three days later and said she had seen families do disgusting things for money but this was especially filthy.

“They cannot beat you but they want to scare you into giving up before the fight even starts,” Joanne explained. The hearing took place two weeks later in a small room that smelled like old paper and reheated coffee.