My son had no idea I’d saved $800,000. Then his wife said, “He has to leave this house.”

He had chosen the arrogance of a cruel woman over the respect owed to his own father.

“That is the nature of accounting, Logan,” I said quietly. “In the end, everything balances.”

Chelsea’s fake sadness vanished, replaced by rage.

“You’re a monster,” she hissed. “You lived under our roof for free.”

I let out a short, dry laugh.

Then I nodded to Fiona.

She opened the final file.

A slim black folder, elegant and simple.

From it, she removed one bank statement and placed it in the center of the table.

Logan leaned forward.

Chelsea did too.