Chapter 18
She stepped closer.
“Thirty-nine million dollars, Fay.”
I looked at her.
“You keep saying that number
as though it belongs to you.”
“That's not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
She spread her hands.
“You could repay Mom and Dad.
The missing money would be replaced.
Their house would be safe.
Nobody would need to know anything.”
The rain tapped steadily against the glass.
I studied my sister's face.
She genuinely seemed to believe
she was offering a reasonable solution.
“You want me to pay
for what you took,” I said,
“so nobody has to know
what you did.”
She looked away.
“I didn't mean for it
to become this big.”
“When did you mean to stop?”
She didn't answer.
“The first eight thousand?
The first fifty thousand?
The first quarter million?”
“Stop.”
“Did you plan to stop
before Mom and Dad borrowed
against their house?”
“Fay.”
“Or before Dad sold his rental property?”
She gripped the chair.
“I said stop.”
I did.
The silence afterward was enormous.
She was breathing hard.
I wasn't.
That seemed to anger her further.
“You have no idea
what it felt like.”
I waited.
“Everyone thought you were fearless.
You bought that farm
and disappeared into your little world.
Nobody expected anything from you.”
I looked at her.
“Nobody expected anything?”
She nodded bitterly.
“You could fail quietly.
I couldn't.”
I studied her for a long moment.
Then I asked,
“Who told you failure was shameful?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Who made you believe
you had to pretend
your business was succeeding?”
Her eyes filled.
“I was supposed to be
the one who knew what she was doing.”
“According to whom?”
She looked at the floor.
“Everyone.”
I thought about our childhood.
Ranata's perfect report cards.
Her polished school speeches.
The way relatives praised her
for being sensible and ambitious.
I had been the restless one.
The child climbing fences,
rescuing injured birds,
taking apart broken machines.
Nobody had imagined
I would build something substantial.
Perhaps Ranata had spent years
believing success was a competition
we were both required to enter.
But even if that explained her fear,
it didn't excuse her choices.
“You could have told us
your business was struggling,” I said.
She gave a hollow laugh.
“And listened to Dad lecture me?”
“He might have.”
“He would've been disappointed.”
“Maybe.”
I paused.
“But that's what being honest sometimes costs.”
She looked at me sharply.