On my birthday, my parents bought my brother a new car and gave me a lecture.

Two years passed in a whirlwind of academic success and professional growth. The Arthur Sterling Foundation grew into a massive success, funding the college education of dozens of talented, hard-working kids who had been overlooked by the traditional sports system.

I was twenty-one now, a college graduate, and a full partner at Kane & Sterling Sports Management. I wore tailored suits, lived in a beautiful high-rise condo, and had a circle of true, loyal friends who loved me for who I was, not what I could provide.

One rainy Tuesday evening—the exact anniversary of the night I had walked out of my parents' house with sixty dollars—I received an email.

It was from Tyler.

I sat at my desk, looking at the subject line: I'm sorry.

I hesitated for a long moment before clicking it open.

Andrew,

I don't expect you to reply to this, and honestly, I don't blame you if you delete it. But I needed to write this.

Our parents are divorced now. The house was foreclosed on last year. Dad lives in a tiny trailer outside the city, and Mom is working as a cashier at a grocery store. They don't talk to each other, and they don't talk to me.

My knee never healed right. I can't play sports anymore. I work as a night watchman at a warehouse. For a long time, I hated you. I hated that you got away, that you had the money, that you were successful. But after the crash, after everything fell apart, I realized the truth.

They destroyed you to build me up, and in doing so, they destroyed us both. I was a spoiled, arrogant kid, and I stood by while they treated you like trash. I tasted your birthday cake, Andrew. I knew it was yours, and I laughed anyway.

I don't want your money. I don't want your help. I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. You deserved a brother, and I was just another bully.

I'm glad you made it. Tyler.

I stared at the screen, the rain tapping gently against my office window. The anger that had fueled my engine for three years suddenly evaporated, leaving behind a profound, peaceful stillness.

I clicked reply.