But there is a firm, unyielding rule now, and it is not negotiable.

The terms are mine.

Respect — real respect, the kind that does not require a bank statement to appear.

Strict boundaries.

And zero second chances for cruelty dressed up as a family joke.

I did not build that rule out of anger.

I built it out of the simple, hard-won knowledge that people who only began respecting me the night they learned my net worth had told me, more honestly than any apology ever could, exactly what their respect was worth: nothing that a poorer woman could have bought.

Chapter 20 — The Price of Respect