My father laughed.
“You make more money than all of us put together.”
Ryan raised his glass.
“Think of it as a welcome-back gift to the family.”
My mother reached across the table and touched my hand.
“Sweetheart, family helps family.”
I stared at her fingers resting on my wrist.
The same fingers that had signed letters accusing me of being greedy after Grandma Eleanor died.
The same fingers that pointed at legal documents three years ago and told me to sign away the inheritance Grandma had left specifically to me.
Something inside me hardened.
Not with anger.
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