Pay to the order of: Claire Whitaker. Five million dollars.

Her fingers trembled slightly against my wrist. “Don’t lose it, Claire.”

I looked at her. “Grandma, what is this?”

“A choice,” she said softly.

My father snorted. “Mom, please. Don’t encourage her.”

Grandma turned to him. “Richard, you never did like things you couldn’t control.”

The table went quiet again — but only briefly. Then the laughter returned, louder and crueler. Marcus waved his check over his head. “Should I frame mine or cash it at a gas station?”

Brittany folded hers into a paper airplane and sailed it across the room; it landed in the mashed potatoes. My aunt Linda shook her head. “Mom, you could’ve at least made it believable.

Five million each? Come on.”

Grandma made no attempt to defend herself. She simply asked Rosa, her housekeeper, to serve dessert.

I folded my check carefully and slipped it into the inner pocket of my coat. My father noticed. “Claire. Don’t tell me you’re actually keeping that.”

I looked down at my plate. “It has my name on it.”