“You took ten million dollars from me to save yourself from bankruptcy,” I said.

“You wrote me a letter that said you owed me your life.

And then, six years later, you sent me a text message at two o’clock in the morning to ban me from my own grandson’s birthday party — because I made her friends uncomfortable.” I let the word hang there in its full ugliness.

“You traded your mother, Steven, for a fake pedigree.

For a family name on a sign.