“Then sue me,” I answered without flinching. “But until a judge orders otherwise, the money stops here. Better figure out how to pay for your party, Megan. Because the trust won’t cover a single dollar.”

I opened the front door and pointed outside.

“Now leave my house before I call the police.”

They stormed out screaming curses and threats into the evening air. I watched their leased Mercedes disappear down the street while my heart slammed against my ribs. I knew they were desperate.

What I didn’t realize was how unbelievably delusional they truly were.

I assumed Megan would cancel the party. I assumed reality would finally hit them.

Instead, three nights later, my phone rang from an unfamiliar number.

“Hello, is this Sabrina Nolan?” a stressed male voice asked. “My name is Marcus. I’m the general manager at the Riverside Grill. Your mother and sister are here with eighty guests, and they insist you’re arriving with the estate checkbook to pay the bill. Are you on your way?”

“I’m definitely not coming to pay that bill, Marcus,” I replied, smiling coldly. “But I will come clear up the confusion.”

I grabbed my coat and drove across town to the Riverside Grill.

The moment I stepped through the banquet room doors, the entire scene made me sick. Champagne flowed freely beneath crystal chandeliers. A jazz quartet played softly in the corner while eighty guests laughed and celebrated around lavish floral displays. Megan stood in the center of the room wearing a gorgeous white cocktail dress, wrapped around her fiancé Greg — a man completely convinced he was marrying into enormous wealth.

My mother noticed me immediately.

A smug, victorious grin spread across her face as she marched over and grabbed my arm, dragging me away from the guests.

“I knew you’d come crawling back,” she whispered sharply, her breath thick with wine. “Go authorize the estate card before you embarrass us.”

“I’m not here to pay, Mom,” I said loudly.

The music faltered.

Several nearby guests turned toward us. Megan rushed over with Greg close behind her.

“Bree, what are you doing?” Megan whisper-shouted, panic flashing across her face. “Just pay him!”

Marcus, the restaurant manager, approached carrying a leather bill folder.

“Ladies, I need authorization for the card on file,” he said carefully. “The current balance is six thousand two hundred dollars, and my kitchen cannot serve the main courses until payment is secured.”

“My sister has the estate card,” Megan said with a strained laugh, motioning toward me. “She handles all our boring money stuff.”

“No, I don’t,” I announced clearly.

My voice echoed through the banquet room as silence spread across the crowd. Even the jazz quartet stopped playing.

“I suspended all your funding on Tuesday,” I continued. “You knew you didn’t have the money for this party, Megan. You planned an event you couldn’t afford because you thought publicly humiliating me would force me to pay.”