The number was almost meaningless, too large to comprehend. I tried to imagine what that much money looked like, what it could do. I could have graduated debt-free with money to spare. I could have traveled, taken unpaid internships at prestigious companies, built a professional wardrobe that did not come from thrift stores. I could have had choices, opportunities, a foundation to build on. Instead, I had student loans and $842 in my checking account.
My phone buzzed repeatedly—text messages from my mother, my father, relatives I had not spoken to in months. I ignored them all except for one from my grandmother confirming dinner at 7:00 at her house in the hills overlooking the city.
I pulled out my laptop and started searching. Trust fund laws. Trustee responsibilities. Fiduciary duty. The words swam in front of my eyes, but certain phrases jumped out. Trustees were legally required to act in the best interest of the beneficiary. They could be held liable for losses due to negligence or self-dealing. There were penalties, legal remedies, ways to recover stolen funds.
Because that was what this was, I realized. Theft.
My parents had stolen from me. They had lied to my face for years while spending money that was supposed to be mine. Every time they had told me to be more frugal, to think carefully about my spending, to understand that money did not grow on trees, they had been gaslighting me while living off my inheritance.
I thought about my mother’s designer handbags, my father’s new car, their renovated kitchen with its granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. I thought about the vacation they took to Europe last year, just the two of them, while I worked double shifts at a campus coffee shop to make rent. They said it was a second honeymoon, a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Had they paid for it with my money?
The anger, when it finally came, was white-hot and purifying. I was not just mad about the money, though that was certainly part of it. I was furious about the betrayal, the years of deception, the casual way they had robbed me of opportunities and choices. I was enraged at how they had played the role of struggling parents, martyrs who sacrificed everything for their daughter while secretly living high on money that was supposed to be mine.
I wanted revenge.
