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My father placed the bank card on the table, calling me the "most capable" in the family, entrusting me with their retirement. I knew it wasn't trust; it was a trap, a way to access my money through guilt. My brother, Liam, smirked, reinforcing their expectation that my success was a family resource – primarily for him. The peace shattered less than a week later when Liam demanded $50,000 for another failed business venture. When I refused, citing his past failures, he escalated, claiming I was hoarding family money. My parents, instead of defending me, sided with him, pressuring me to give in. The climax arrived when Liam physically assaulted me in my apartment, and my own father destroyed my phone to cover it up, blaming me for the outburst. How could my family side with my abuser, enabling his irresponsibility while erasing evidence of his violence? The injustice ignited a cold rage, burning away years of fear and restraint. I grabbed the largest kitchen knife I owned, and with a voice shaking with fury, screamed, "Get out of my house!" The next day, they launched a public smear campaign at my office, accusing me of stealing and being a heartless monster. But I was done being their victim; I was ready to fight back. I challenged them to a live stream, promising to expose every financial transaction and reveal the police report for assault. The game had changed, and I was about to unleash a truth they never expected.