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My other phone line began ringing. Ethan’s name appeared on the caller ID. “Oh, look at that,” I said.
“Your brother is calling. I should probably take this. He might have some interesting news to share.”
“Goodbye, Sophia.
I hope you have a lovely day figuring out how to be responsible.”
I switched to the other line. “Hello, Ethan.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
His voice was pure fury. None of the charm he usually deployed when he wanted something from me.
“Good morning to you too, dear. I trust you slept well in your lovely home.”
“You know damn well I didn’t, since I got an eviction notice slipped under my door at 6:00 a.m. Thirty days to vacate.
Are you out of your mind?”
“This is insane. Mom, you can’t just throw me out of my house because you’re mad about some stupid family argument.”
“Your house.”
I laughed, and the sound surprised even me with its coldness.
“Darling, it’s my house. My name on the deed. My money that purchased it.
My generosity that allowed you to live there rent-free for the past three years.”
“I’ve been taking care of it. I’ve been maintaining the property value.”
“How noble of you.”
Turns out I can get $3,200 a month for it. Who knew?”
“$3,200? Mom, I can’t afford that kind of rent on my salary.”
“Then I suppose you’ll need to find somewhere more within your budget.
Have you considered roommates? I hear that’s quite common for people your age. People your age who don’t have trust funds and family money.”
“Uh… yes, about that.”
“I’ve also had a chat with my financial adviser about your trust fund.
Fascinating conversation, really. Did you know that as the settlor of the trust, I retain certain discretionary powers? I can modify the distribution schedule under specific circumstances.”
The silence stretched so long I thought he might have hung up.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, but I would. And I have.”
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