“You think you’re so smart with your military files,” Chloe snapped, turning her back on me and opening the stainless steel refrigerator.

“Brandon’s going to settle everything on Friday, and then Mom’s going to throw you out on the street.”

“Brandon doesn’t own the land under those condos,” I said.

“He owns whatever Mom gives him,” Chloe said, slamming a carton of almond milk onto the glass shelf.

“You don’t belong in this family, Avery.

You never did.”

I didn’t answer her.

I reached into my coat, took out the official tax receipt showing fifteen thousand dollars paid in full, and tucked it safely into my canvas bag while Chloe’s back was turned.