Derek swiped his thumb across the cracked glass.

His face paled slightly under his Stanford cap.

“‘Do not list our home address for your business registration,'” Derek read, his voice dropping an octave.

“‘We do not want creditors showing up here when this fails,'” he finished.

He stopped reading and slowly lowered the phone to his side.

He looked at Mother as if seeing her clearly for the first time in his life.

“You told me you helped her with the deposit,” Derek said.

“I kept her grounded, Derek,” Mother said, her voice rising slightly.

“Your sister has always lived in the clouds,” she said. “Someone had to be the realist.”

“You lied to me,” Derek said quietly.

“I protected this family,” she countered, her eyes darting to a passing group of graduates.

She adjusted her sunglasses, smoothing down her beige trench coat.

Father looked down at his leather loafers, shifting his weight on the gravel.

“Richard, say something,” Mother snapped at him.

Father cleared his throat but kept his eyes on the pavement.

“It is in the past, Helen,” Father muttered. “They are both successful now. Let us just go to dinner.”