“You think your father can protect you from real life?” Cole sneered, his fingers digging into the edge of the polished stone.

“Without my signature on the main credit line, you’re completely broke.”

“I have my inheritance from Grandmother Margaret,” I said, holding the warmer tight against my coat.

“Your inheritance is locked in a generational trust run by old men who take three months to approve a single tax distribution,” Cole said.

He stepped closer until I could smell stale espresso on his breath.

“You don’t have cash, Lauren.