“Your little ‘worthless’ business?” he said, laughing. “For how much?”
I took a sip of water and placed my glass down carefully before answering.
“One hundred seventy million.”
Grant’s laugh cut off so abruptly it was almost amusing. His mouth stayed slightly open, but no sound followed. Across from him, his wife froze with her napkin halfway to her lap. My mother actually went pale—not theatrical pale, but real pale, like the blood had drained from her face all at once. My father stopped carving.
Then everyone started talking at the same time.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Grant said first, far too loudly. “What, in Monopoly money?”
“Grant,” my mother snapped, though her eyes stayed locked on me. “Ethan… what exactly do you mean you sold it?”
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