My father nodded proudly, puffing out his chest.
“That is correct,” he stated. “We have decided to liquidate some of our assets to give your sister the $50,000 seed money she needs to properly launch her brand. Starting a business requires significant upfront capital, Clara. We are setting Tiffany up for long-term entrepreneurial success. Therefore, our credit and our cash are completely tied up. We cannot help you.”
I sat completely frozen in my chair. The air in the dining room suddenly felt incredibly thin. I could not breathe. I looked at the three of them sitting there so incredibly smug, so entirely convinced of their own twisted logic. They were literally willing to hand my sister $50,000 in cold hard cash for a doomed vanity-project boutique that she would inevitably abandon in six months. But they absolutely refused to simply sign their names on a piece of paper to guarantee my medical degree. They were willing to fund her delusions, but they considered my actual, tangible genius to be a financial liability. It was not about the money. It was never about the money. It was about control. It was about making sure I never outshined their golden child. I did not scream. I did not cry. I slowly picked up the cream-colored folder, put it back into my bag, and stood up from the table.
“I understand,” I said quietly.
My voice sounded foreign to my own ears, entirely hollow and completely dead.
