At my father’s funeral, my brother stood up in front of everyone and announced he planned to sell our family home to cover his $340,000 gambling debt. My mother simply nodded, as if it made perfect sense.

Aunt Dorothy clutched at her chest. Uncle Frank stared at Marcus like he was seeing him clearly for the first time. I looked at my brother and saw panic where entitlement had been.

“How much?” I asked.

No one answered.

So I answered for them.

“Three hundred and forty thousand?”

Marcus didn’t deny it.

My mother finally fell apart. Her makeup had begun to run. She clutched her pearl necklace so tightly it looked as though it might break. “I’ve been covering for him for years,” she said. “I gave him everything I had. The house was the last resort. Your father’s been gone barely two weeks, and now you’re taking our home.”

I stood up slowly.

“I’m not taking anything,” I said. “I’m accepting what Dad left me. The difference is, he made sure this part couldn’t be taken.”

Then I looked directly at Marcus.

“He saw this coming. He was right.”

Uncle Frank tightened his grip on Marcus’s arm as my brother leaned forward, fury and helplessness colliding in his face. I turned back to my mother.

“You can stay in the house,” I said. “I’m not throwing you out. We’ll draft a lease for one dollar a month, renewable each year. But Marcus does not live there. That is final.”

She stared at me.

“You can’t—”

“I can.”