“And what about my reputation?” I asked, my voice rising. “What about my graduate school applications? What about my future?”

“You are young,” my mother said, as if she were explaining something simple to a child. “You can rebuild. Brandon is on the verge of making partner. This will destroy him.”

“She will do no such thing,” Arthur said, stepping between us. “You are asking your daughter to commit perjury to cover up your son’s felony. I will not allow her to answer another question in this house.”

“Stay out of this, Arthur,” my father warned, taking a step closer.

I looked at my mother’s desperate, tear-stained face, and then at my father’s hard, unyielding eyes.

I thought about the hours I had spent on the phone with credit bureaus, crying in my apartment.

I thought about the rejection letters from universities because of the red flags on my background checks.

They had known all along.

They had watched me struggle, and they had done nothing but protect Brandon.

“No,” I said.

The word was small, but it echoed clearly in the high-ceilinged room.