He held up a finger. “One, you reserve front-row VIP seats for me, Karen, and Megan.”

A second finger. “Two, in your speech, you dedicate a portion to us. You don’t have to lie. Just say your biological family made the tough choices to get you the best state care possible. Talk about how our distant, unwavering support gave you the drive to succeed. A story of forgiveness and family unity.”

He tapped the envelope. “A quarter of a million dollars, Emily. A clean slate for you, a good news cycle for me. Everybody wins.”

I thought about Laura, working her third shift of the week, her back aching, living in an apartment with peeling paint because she’d bought my life with her own.

I reached out and laid my hand over the envelope. “You want the front row?” I asked softly.

“Front and center,” he smiled, certain he’d won. Certain everyone had a price.