“I was a child who had to learn how to pay rent,” I said.

My mother walked around the table, her eyes darting to the dark corners of the cabin.

“This place is exactly how Elliot left it,” she said, running a gloved finger along the dusty mantle. “Cluttered. Pointless.”

“Elliot built this business with his own hands,” I said. “He cared about the drivers. He cared about the legacy.”

“Legacy doesn’t pay the bills, Avery,” she said. “Your father and I have real debts. Real responsibilities.”

“You mean your lifestyle,” I said.

She didn’t deny it. She just looked away, staring into the flickering flames of the hearth.

My father took off his leather cap and tossed it onto the table.

“We didn’t come here to argue about how we raised you,” he said. “We came to settle the estate.”

“This note is my leverage,” I said, pointing to the yellowed paper again. “If I take this to the judge, your claim is dead.”

“A scrap of paper from fifteen years ago?” my father scoffed. “No judge will care about a family dispute from a decade and a half ago.”