The next morning, the family chat was silent.
Not a single message.
The stillness after an explosion is its own kind of noise — heavy, expectant.
I sat at my kitchen table, coffee untouched, laptop open to my financial dashboard.
The $50,000 hole sat there like a bruise.
By noon, my attorney, Ellen Price, called.
“Morning, Maya. The signed settlement arrived from your parents and Miguel. Waiting on Gabriella.”
“She’ll cave,” I said.
“Do you want to press charges if she doesn’t?”
“No,” I said. “I just want my life back.”
Ellen hesitated. “You know, I’ve represented people in family financial abuse cases for twenty years. They always think it’s about money at first. It’s not.”
“It’s about control,” I said.
“Exactly.”
The Call
At 3:17 p.m., Gabriella’s name lit my phone.
I almost ignored it — almost.
Then I answered.
Her voice was shaky. “You ruined everything.”
“You mean I stopped you from stealing from me.”
“You think you’re better than us now?”
“No,” I said quietly. “I think I finally understand you.”
She sniffed. “Mom hasn’t stopped crying. Dad says you’re brainwashed by money.”
“That’s funny,” I said. “Because money’s the only thing that ever made you listen.”
“You’re unbelievable,” she spat. “You’re sitting on a billion dollars, and you can’t even help your own family.”
“Help is given,” I said. “Not taken.”
Then I hung up.
The Visit
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