“Quiet,” he hissed. “You have had your tantrum. Go inside.”

“I am not going anywhere,” I said. “This is my birthday, too.”

I looked at Chloe, whose pale face was flushed with embarrassment and confusion.

“Do you know how we paid for your tuition at Bayside Academy, Chloe?” I asked.

Chloe shook her head slowly, her lips parting.

“Mother said we got a family discount because of Father’s alumni status,” Chloe whispered.

“There was no discount,” I said. “Every dollar of your tuition came from my medical trust.”

Mother gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

The pool filter hummed in the background, a steady, mechanical drone.

“That is a lie,” Father said, his voice rising. “The trust was managed by an independent board.”

“You were the chairman of that board, Father,” I said. “And Mother was the treasurer.”

I pointed to the gold watch on Father’s wrist.

“The insurance company paid out two million dollars after the fire,” I said. “It was legally mandated for my reconstructive surgeries.”

The guests began to whisper, the sound like dry leaves scraping across concrete.