I turned eighteen on a Tuesday. No cake. No card. Not even a half-hearted “happy birthday.” Just my father sitting at the kitchen table, his wife stirring sugar into her mug, and my stepbrother leaning back in his chair with that look people get when they already know how the story ends. – usnews

I stared at him.

“You mean I can’t use the inheritance?”

“Correct.”

“No money from the accounts?”

“Correct.”

“No credit cards?”

“Correct.”

“No property?”

“Correct.”

“Then how am I supposed to survive?”

Richard looked toward my car.

“You already have been.”

I almost laughed.

“This is insane.”

“It gets worse.”

Of course it did.

Richard opened the final folder.

“Your grandfather wanted to know what you would do if you believed you had nothing.”

I stared at him.

“What does that mean?”

“He didn’t want to leave his empire to someone who would become dependent on it.”

“He wanted to test me?”

“Yes.”

“And if I fail?”

“You inherit nothing.”

I stared at the document.

For the first time since meeting Richard, I felt angry.

“You find me living in my car after my father threw me out, and you tell me my grandfather deliberately waited until now to see what I’d do?”