"“Your daughters can eat after you get home,” my mother said, pushing two paper napkins toward them as though that should be enough.

Two days later, my doorbell rang at seven in the evening.

I opened the door to find my mother standing on the porch, holding a Tupperware container wrapped in a ribbon. She wore her polished pearls and a look of deep, martyr-like sorrow. Behind her stood my father, looking weary and shrunk inside his overcoat.

"Natalie," Beverly said, stepping past me into the foyer without waiting for an invitation. "We need to talk like civilized adults."

"Mom," I said, staying by the open door. "I didn't invite you over."

"Oh, stop it," she snapped, dropping her sorrowful facade for a fraction of a second before recovering her gentle, tragic tone. "We are family. Family doesn't slam doors on each other over a silly misunderstanding. I brought your favorite pasta bake."

"The misunderstanding where you refused to let my daughters order food?" I asked coldly.

"They are young children!" Beverly raised her hands in exasperation. "They don't need expensive steak dinner meals! You know how picky Lily is. I was saving you money, Natalie! You're a single mother working on a single salary. I was trying to protect your wallet, and you turned it into a circus!"

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. The sheer audacity was staggering.

"Saving my wallet?" I stepped into the living room, facing her. "Brandon ordered two ninety-five-dollar steaks for his kids who weren't even in the building. You didn't try to save his wallet."

"Brandon is the head of the family business now!" Beverly barked, her voice rising. "He bears enormous stress! He earns his privilege! You work a little job at a firm while your brother carries the burden of your father's legacy!"

My father stepped forward, reaching out a hand. "Beverly, please... calm down. Natalie, your mother just wants us to be whole again. The boys missed their cousins. Paige was upset—"

"Dad," I interrupted, turning my gaze to him. "Did you know Brandon charged that dinner—and dozens like it—to Vance Supply Co.?"

My father froze. His eyes flickered with confusion. "What?"

Beverly’s head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "What nonsense are you spewing now? How dare you accuse your brother of stealing!"

"I didn't say stealing, Mom. You did," I said calmly. "I said he charged luxury personal dinners to the company. I have the ledgers, Dad. Over seventy thousand dollars in 'personal client expenses' over the last fourteen months alone. Including Paige’s boutique shopping trips marked down as 'office supplies'."

The color drained entirely from my father’s face. He turned slowly toward my mother. "Beverly... did you know about this?"

"She's lying!" Beverly hissed, pointing a finger at me. "She's jealous! She’s always been jealous of Brandon because he was born to lead the business, and she was left out! She's trying to poison you against your own son because she couldn't handle a simple dinner!"

"I have the audited statements right here on my laptop, Dad," I said, walking toward my desk. "Would you like to see the signatures?"

Beverly lunged forward, slapping her hand down on my laptop lid before I could open it. Her face was twisted with absolute rage, the polished grandmother mask completely gone.

"You touch that business, Natalie, and I swear to God you will never set foot in our home again," she whispered, her voice dripping with venom. "You will be erased from this family."