They Faked Going Broke, I Found Myself a New Family

When the last transfer went through, Ben Carter, who ran the garage, was picking metal shavings out of my palm with tweezers.

"Tomorrow you can finally take a day off," he said.

I turned my phone so he could see the screen. "It's paid off."

Five hundred thousand dollars.

I'd sold my car, handed over the money my grandmother had left for my tuition, and worked at the garage for a full year.

I pulled up train tickets to New York and looked for the school's contact information. My offer of admission had expired. I didn't know if I could get it back.

My mother called.

"Come home for dinner, and wear something decent. Your sister has a surprise for you."

I went to the restroom and washed my hands three times. The grease under my nails wouldn't come off, and I couldn't straighten the middle finger on my right hand. I wrapped it in gauze and put on my coat.

When I got to the Costa house, the iron gates slowly swung open.

Last year, my father said getting Viola back had wiped us out. We'd have to mortgage the house and sell the cars. I moved into the room above the garage, thinking I could at least save a little money.

The moment I stepped into the courtyard, I saw it was full of cars again.

The Tesla at the front was this year's model.

The attendant at the door took my coat, revealing the faded shirt underneath.

When I walked into the living room, everyone stopped talking.

My mother, in a silver gown, waved at me from across the room. My father was still pouring wine. Viola was leaning against the piano, and my fiancé, Enzo, was holding her glass for her.

"Surprise!"

Viola laughed first.

"Nadia, we were never broke."

I looked at my father.

He raised his glass. "Relax. We paid the ransom, but it wasn't nearly enough to ruin the Costa family. The debt was just a test for you."

I didn't take the drink the attendant offered me.

"Which of the bills were fake?"

"There was no debt."

"Then what about the money you made me send every month this year?"

My mother came over and smoothed my collar.

"Your sister said all you cared about was going to New York, and we were worried you weren't responsible enough to be a big sister. Now we all know you really do care about this family."

She caught a whiff of my clothes and pulled her hand back.

"Why do you smell like grease?"

I stepped around her and went to the piano.

A photo sat on the lid: Viola in a white dress at the piano, my mother bending to kiss her cheek.

I'd seen that dress before. Two months ago, my mother told me my sister's PTSD had gotten worse. She couldn't sleep, and they were $20,000 short for treatment. Could I please find the money?

That week I took on three rush jobs. By the last day, I had to keep switching hands just to hold the spray gun.

"When did you buy the piano?" I asked.

Viola glanced at it.

"July. Mom said after everything I went through, I deserved something to be happy about."

July.

I opened my transfer history and found the $20,000 payment.

My mother put her hand over my phone.

"Nadia, don't start keeping score today. Your father's already planning to give you the money back."

My father picked up an envelope from the table.

"Here's another five hundred thousand dollars. That's a million altogether. That should cover a year of your life."

Enzo smiled and pulled out a chair for me.

"Sit down. Don't embarrass everyone. You always said you could stand on your own two feet, didn't you? Turns out we were right about you."

I didn't sit.

I looked at the four of them, then at the piano.

All year long, what I'd dreaded most was the phone ringing.

I was afraid something else had happened at home, afraid my sister's health wouldn't hold up, afraid enemies would come to the door. If I was even a little late with the money, they might not make it.

Every time they pushed me to send money, they'd probably been sitting around a dinner table just like this one, waiting to see how much longer I could last.

I pulled the envelope out of my father's hand and tore it open.

It wasn't a transfer receipt.

It was a check for a million dollars and a document for me to sign.

The first page read, "In fulfillment of my duty to the family, I voluntarily give up any claim to the family inheritance."

I stared at that last line and laughed out loud.

So the million dollars was meant to buy everything else from me.

I spread the page out on the piano.

"Got a pen?"

My mother breathed a sigh of relief and quickly dug through her purse.

I took the pen and wrote "Liars" in big letters on the signature line.