My father made five million dollars a month working overseas. My monthly allowance was thirty dollars. My mother claimed she fought tooth and nail to get me more, to the point where they almost divorced over it. My sister, eyes red with tears, would secretly slip me cash under the table—only to be caught and beaten fifty times with the heavy family cane. So, every time hunger clawed at my stomach and my gut twisted in painful spasms, I hated my father. I hated his cold, arbitrary cruelty. I hated that he had brought me into this world only to starve me of both food and love. Then, I received a video call from myself ten years in the future. The moment the screen connected, my heart leaped. “How am I doing in ten years?” I blurted out, unable to contain the hope in my voice. “Did I finally cut that old bastard out of my life?” But the future me on the screen had bloodshot eyes, hollow and burning with a mixture of raw grief and absolute fury. “You idiot,” he rasped, his voice cracking. “That ‘old bastard’ is the only one who ever loved you. When your mother and sister poisoned you and left you in complete kidney failure, he didn’t hesitate for a single second. He gave you his own kidney!” “And to keep them from destroying you further, he signed away his entire net worth just to buy out your relationship with them. After the surgery, he couldn’t even afford a ten-dollar pack of anti-inflammatories. He died of a massive infection, screaming in pain in a cold hospital bed.” I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat, paralyzed by disbelief. The future me let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Your $150,000 monthly allowance? They pocketed every single cent except for the thirty dollars they threw at you. The rest went to her secret love child.” “If you don’t believe me, go to the estates at Westwood Heights. See for yourself.” … I went. The midsummer sun beat down mercilessly, baking the asphalt as the security guard stopped me at the iron gates of Westwood Heights. His eyes narrowed with sharp, elitist suspicion. “This is a private community. Who are you looking for?” Clinging to a tiny, desperate shred of hope, I whispered, “I’m looking for Victoria Prescott. I’m her son.” The guard burst out laughing. “Are you out of your mind, kid? Ms. Prescott only has a daughter and a son named Hunter. In fact, she just took him out yesterday to buy him a brand-new phone.” “Where did you crawl out of? Trying to scam your way in?” He tossed a glossy community newsletter onto the marble counter. My blood ran cold. The world tilted on its axis as I looked at the photograph on the page. My mother and sister stood smiling, their arms wrapped affectionately around a teenage boy. I knew him. Hunter Prescott. The golden boy in my class. Two weeks ago, he’d bragged to everyone at school about his parents buying him a custom-built villa in the hills. When asked about the price, Hunter had merely smirked. “Not much. Just around five million.” My thirty-dollar allowance had started the year I entered high school. Three years. Five million a year. My hands shook so violently I could barely grip the paper. When I got home, my mother and Caroline were sitting in the living room. Neither of them noticed the deathly pale color of my face. My mother walked over and handed me a twenty and a ten-dollar bill. “Jesse, here’s your allowance. Your father just wired it. Make sure you stretch it.” I stared at the crumpled cash in my palm, then slowly looked up at her. Her face wore that same familiar expression of maternal pity and tenderness. My eyes burned. A bitter, jagged laugh escaped my throat. “Thirty dollars a month. Do you really want to see me starve that badly?” Her brow furrowed, a flash of annoyance crossing her face. “You know what your father’s temper is like. If I dare ask him for more, he’ll send over another stack of divorce papers.” “Is that so?” I raised my voice, my chest heaving. “Maybe I’ll ask him myself the next time he calls.” Caroline immediately rushed to my side. She smoothed my hair down, gently pressing a hundred-dollar bill into my hand. “I’ll take the blame,” she whispered, giving me a conspiratorial wink. “Just don’t turn on the AC in your bedroom this month. We can pretend we didn’t notice if you sneak it on.” Ever since my father moved to Australia, the house had “rules.” I only had the right to use the electricity and my phone, for which I supposedly owed the household rent. Since I had no money, my usage was restricted to the first and last days of the month. I spent countless sweltering summer nights doing homework in the dark by the weak flashlight of a dying phone, crying as I poured cold water over my head just to lower my body temperature. In the past, Caroline’s hundred dollars would have filled me with intense gratitude. But now, all I could think of was Hunter bragging about his villa’s advanced climate-control system. “It keeps the air at the perfect temperature all year round,” he’d said. His arrogant laugh echoed in my head, sharp and agonizing. I pushed the hundred-dollar bill back into Caroline’s hand, leaving only the thirty dollars. “No thanks,” I said, pronouncing each word with heavy deliberation. “I only want what actually belongs to me.” I walked into my bedroom, grabbed my ID, and headed to the nearest Chase bank branch. “I need a complete statement of all accounts under my name for the past three years.” The printout was hundreds of pages long. I stood in the quiet lobby, going through the ledger page by page. Since my freshman year, at precisely midnight on the first of every month, my father had wired $150,000. Sometimes there were extra deposits, always with notes attached: Happy birthday to my boy. Good luck on exams, buy yourself some extra tutors. Merry Christmas to my favorite son. But within five minutes of arriving, the money was always transferred out in massive, lump-sum withdrawals. Leaving exactly thirty dollars. My throat tightened. I couldn’t breathe. My parents practiced a modern, separate-living arrangement. Caroline took my mother’s surname, Prescott, while I took my father’s, Ellington. Despite this, my mother had always acted like she favored me, constantly telling Caroline she had to sacrifice for her brother. I remembered when I was six and fell critically ill. My mother spent a week on her knees at St. Jude’s Chapel, praying for my recovery. Caroline had sobbed, begging the doctors to take her own organs if it would save my life. That was why I had believed their lies so blindly. Tears fell onto the paper, blurring the printed numbers. I bit my lip to keep from crying out loud, my hands trembling as I carefully packed the statements away. The next day at school, a crowd of students surrounded Hunter’s desk. He was showing off a brand-new, limited-edition phone. “My mom bought it for me the second I asked,” Hunter boasted, his face beaming. “She got a $150,000 commission check yesterday and surprised me with it.” I sat at my desk, quietly chewing on a dry, day-old bagel. On thirty dollars a month, a single dry bagel was the only meal I could guarantee myself each day. Hunter suddenly thrust the phone in front of my face, his eyes glinting with smug satisfaction. “Nice, isn’t it, Jesse?” I looked at the malicious triumph in his eyes and smiled faintly. “Sure. It’s always easy to enjoy things you didn’t have to work for.” A classmate sneered. “Ignore him, Hunter. He’s just broke and bitter because his own parents won’t spend a dime on him.” Hunter laughed magnanimously. “It’s fine. I heard Jesse’s monthly allowance is only thirty bucks. I’d be bitter too.” The classroom erupted into cruel laughter. “Thirty bucks? My dog’s food costs more than that.” “Was he adopted from a shelter?” I didn’t let their jeers get under my skin. I swallowed the last dry crumb of my bagel, stood up, and looked directly into Hunter’s eyes. “You know, yesterday was the first of the month. The day my dad always transfers my allowance.” Hunter blinked, momentarily thrown off. I let out a slow, deliberate smile. “My dad transfers my money, and your mother suddenly gets a massive ‘commission check’ on the exact same day. Funny coincidence, isn’t it?” The color drained from Hunter’s face. Before I could sit down, my homeroom teacher appeared at the door, looking deeply uncomfortable and refusing to meet my eyes. “Jesse… the results for the academic scholarship are in.” My heart sank. I followed him to the principal’s office, where I was informed that my $3,000 scholarship had been reassigned to Hunter—supposedly at my “father’s request.” I didn’t try to argue with the principal’s clumsy lies. I just stared at the certificate on the desk. Three thousand dollars was pocket change to Hunter, but to me, it meant a month of hot meals and a hotel room with working air conditioning. Without saying a word, I reached over and picked up my teacher’s phone from the desk. The principal gasped. “Jesse, what are you doing?” I dialed three digits, my voice perfectly calm. “Calling the police. Even if they’re my family, they don’t have the right to steal my academic merit.” The principal’s face went white. He scrambled for his own phone, frantically dialing. The police arrived within fifteen minutes, closely followed by my mother and sister, who rushed into the office, sweating and breathless. My mother tried to grab my arm. “Jesse, stop this dramatic nonsense. Let’s go home and talk.” I stepped back, out of her reach, and looked at the lead officer. “Officer, I have been severely neglected at home for three years on a thirty-dollar-a-month allowance, and now my guardians have illegally forged my signature to transfer my academic scholarship to another student.” The officer’s face darkened as he turned to my mother and sister. “Are you his legal guardians? Is what he’s saying true?” Caroline tried to smooth things over, but I spoke over her. “Officer, they claim my father authorized all of this.” The officer immediately ordered his partner, “Contact the father and verify this statement.” The blood drained from my mother’s face. She cast a desperate, pleading look at the principal. The principal immediately stepped forward with a nervous laugh. “Officers, this was entirely a clerical error! We are reinstating Jesse’s scholarship immediately. It’s all a big misunderstanding!” Caroline grabbed my hand, her voice softening into a gentle, pleading coo. “Jesse, Dad’s discipline was definitely too harsh, but we’re a family. We shouldn’t air our dirty laundry in public.” My mother nodded frantically, her hands shaking as she pulled out her phone and venmoed me $5,000. “Yes, look, I’m transferring you some emergency funds right now. Your allowance is back to normal, I promise.” Seeing the immediate financial transfer, the officers’ expressions softened, though they still gave my mother and sister a stern lecture about neglect before departing. The ride home was dead silent. My mother’s grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled. The second she pulled into the driveway, she slammed on the brakes, turned around, and glared at me with cold, dark eyes. “You know.” It wasn’t a question. Caroline reached into her designer purse and threw a stack of paper into the backseat. It was my Chase bank statements. “Did you really think your little investigation was a secret, Jesse?” Caroline sneered, her sweet sisterly act completely gone. I bit my tongue, my pale face betraying my fear. My mother let out a cold laugh. “Your father did send more. But we kept it so you wouldn’t squander it. Besides, he’s halfway across the world and doesn’t care about you. Caroline and I are the only ones who actually tolerate you.” Caroline leaned back, looking completely unbothered. “If you think we’re so terrible, go live with your precious dad.” The sheer, burning injustice of it made my eyes sting. According to the future me, they would eventually succeed in completely cutting off my contact with my father, leaving me to die. I swallowed my anger, forcing my voice to tremble with submission. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was wrong.” Seeing me back down, their expressions relaxed. As soon as we walked into the house, I locked myself in my bedroom. I crawled under the bed and reached into the deepest corner, pulling out a broken wooden bracelet my father had given me before he left. The future me had told me: There is an emergency GPS transponder inside. Break it, and it will alert his private security detail. I had smashed it the day of the video call. Now, the tiny green indicator light was flashing. The signal had been received. The next morning, I walked downstairs to find two unfamiliar figures sitting on our velvet sofa. Hunter was sitting next to a middle-aged man who shared his sharp, arrogant features. The man was casually smoking one of my father’s imported Cubans, looking entirely at home. “Pack his things,” the man barked at our maid, not even looking at me. He turned his arrogant gaze toward me and smiled. “My boy likes the natural light. He’s taking your bedroom. You can either move into the school dorms or sleep in the basement. I don’t care which.” My fingers dug into the wooden banister, my chest tight with rage. “This house belongs to my father.” The man didn’t flinch. “Your mother gave me full authority over this estate. If you have an issue, take it up with her.” My mother and sister walked down the stairs, immediately wrapping their arms around the man and calling him “Uncle Greg.” My mother smiled at me, a hollow, plastic expression. “Your uncle is just trying to help you become independent, Jesse. Besides, today is your eighteenth birthday. I brought you a gift.” At her nod, Caroline stepped forward and handed me a thick legal packet. I flipped through the pages, and my vision went blurry. It was an itemized bill for fifteen million dollars. “What is this?” I asked, my voice cracking. “The cost of raising you,” Caroline said, her voice devoid of any warmth. “You carry the Ellington name, not Prescott. It’s only fair that you reimburse us for our expenses.” Hunter leaned over, his eyes wide with greed, before throwing himself into my mother’s arms. “Mom! Is this the fifteen-million-dollar trust fund you promised me for my birthday?” “Yes, sweetheart,” she cooed, stroking his hair. “Exactly that.” She looked back at me, her eyes cold as ice. “I’ll let you pay in installments. I’ll even give you a generous interest rate.” Hunter smirked at me, his eyes gleaming. “You were right, Jesse. It really does feel better when it’s bought with someone else’s money.” The sheer, sickening absurdity of the moment washed over me. I gripped the papers and tore them into shreds, letting the pieces flutter to the floor. “I’m not signing.” The living room went dead silent. Greg’s eyes narrowed, and he gave Hunter’s wrist a sharp nudge. Hunter immediately took the cue, screaming at the top of his lungs, “My phone! My limited-edition phone is gone! Mom, Jesse stole it! He’s jealous of me!” Without a word, my mother dialed a number on her phone. Within ten minutes, three heavily built men in uniform from a notorious “troubled teen” reform school were standing in our foyer. The leader eyed me like a piece of livestock, smiling at my mother. “Don’t worry, ma’am. We specialize in breaking the stubborn ones.” My mother nodded, her eyes completely devoid of maternal warmth. “Keep him as long as you need. Just ensure he stays breathing.” The men lunged forward, grabbing my arms and dragging me toward the door. As they pulled me past my mother and sister, I spat out, “You will regret this. I promise you.” Just as they dragged me to the threshold, the heavy oak front doors were violently kicked open, slamming against the walls. A cold, commanding voice cut through the air. “Victoria, who gave you the authority to send my son to a reform school?!”
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