“Ryan’s debts?” I repeated.
His younger brother Ryan had spent years sinking under bad decisions—failed businesses, gambling, maxed-out credit cards, tax issues. Every holiday turned into another conversation about how he was “trying to turn things around.” Apparently, turning things around meant waiting for someone else to rescue him.
Linda stepped closer. “He’s family. Your mother would have wanted that money to help family.”
I let out a short, incredulous laugh. “My mother barely knew Ryan.”
Ethan’s face hardened. “This isn’t the time to be selfish.”
Selfish.
The word hit harder than Linda’s yelling.
“My mother died six months ago,” I said. “I spent every weekend clearing out that apartment, sorting her things, handling probate, paying legal fees. You weren’t there, Ethan. Neither was Ryan. And now the two of you ‘decided’ what happens to my inheritance?”
Ethan looked away for just a second, and that was enough. This wasn’t a careless suggestion. They had already made plans.
“I already told Ryan we’d help,” he admitted.
My stomach twisted. “We?”
