My emotions were raw. My entire life had been turned upside down. I’d been betrayed. And then he had the balls to come to my house to try to control what I said?

Of course I’d slammed the door in his fucking face. I’d do it again.

“That wasn’t all,” he said. “Maybe if you had paused and looked through the mountain of paperwork I handed you, you would have seen his life insurance, severance package, and an extra bereavement support in there for you as well.”

My chest puffed at his coldness. Another lie. I waited for Warren to interject, but he said nothing.

“You gave them bereavement support?” Maxwell asked, looking at Warren. “After everything?"

“We never saw that shit,” I hissed. “And what do you mean after everything? Maybe my father wasn’t… perfect. Made some bad deals. But his death was Warren’s fault anyway.”

Even after everything that had happened between me and Warren, anger still flowed through my veins. I didn’t think it was this strong anymore until Tristian mentioned the money.

But there was something else too. An emotion I didn’t want to name and that only got stronger when Maxwell and Tristian shared a look before looking at Warren, waiting for him to speak.

The silence got heavier.

Say something.

Something to make me angry. Something to stop the crushing feeling of everything you’re insinuating from burying me alive.

It was the same one that filled me when I scrolled the internet looking at all the headlines detailing the horrible things my father did.

“It was made out to your mother,” Warren said. “She cashed it the following day. All four million of it.”

I couldn’t breathe. The world came crashing down. I lost my balance, stumbling to the side. Everyone in the room tried to reach out to me, but I held up my hand and lowered myself to the chair.

Four million? Four fucking million dollars?

The first conversation I had with my mother after Dad died was about how we were going to survive without his money. What we would have to go without. How we’d get jobs.

She cashed it and never told me?

I felt sick.

Where was that money for the past eight years? Where was it when I was working eighty hours a week? Where was it when we were running out of food and our electricity was cut off?

More importantly… Where was it now that she was in the hospital?

“He also gave you the place you’re living in. The creditors wanted to take it, but Warren made a deal with them. It’s a wonder how it has a lien. The mortgage was slashed in half, and the money he gave you should have been enough to⁠—”

“Tristian, I swear to god I’m taking back the bonus.”

For the first time, a small smile pulled at the man’s lips.