“The policy was in my name,” Father said.

“But the payout was specifically earmarked for my medical care,” I said. “For the skin grafts, the reconstructive surgeries, and the therapy.”

I pulled my arm back, letting the sleeve of my cardigan slide up.

The twisted, tight skin of my forearm was exposed to the bright afternoon sun.

“Instead, you used that money to bail out your real estate firm,” I said.

Chloe let go of my arm, stepping back.

She looked at my arm, then at Father, then down at the water.

“Is that true?” Chloe asked.

“Do not listen to her, Chloe,” Father said, not looking at her. “She is delusional.”

“I have the bank routing numbers, Father,” I said. “I have the transfer receipts.”

I scrolled down on my phone, showing him the attached PDF files in the email.

“I also have the tax records from the dummy corporation you set up in Delaware,” I said.

Father’s face went pale under his tan.

He looked at the screen, his eyes scanning the columns of numbers.

“How did you get those?” he whispered.