Chapter 2

Dad, Aldrich Wheeler, never wasted time. He was all about getting things done, fast.

When I knocked on his study door and laid out Geneva's whole "split the bill" idea, along with my own spin on making everyone in the family stand on their own two feet, he didn't even blink.

Dad didn't ask why or call me crazy. He just paused for a moment and said, "Are you sure? What about your brother and your mom?"

"Dad, this is what we call a stress test," I said, putting on my best 'serious business' voice just like he does in meetings, while totally making stuff up. "Geneva wants us to be independent, right? My brother's almost thirty and can't even read a company report—he just chases girls and buys sports cars. Mom can't even order takeout, all she does is shop for bags and play cards. Isn't that because you've spoiled them? Now someone's willing to be the bad guy and help our family get with the times. We should back her up."

Dad couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head at me. "You really have a way with words. Aren't you worried Geneva's just messing around and not serious?"

"Dad, you gotta practice what you preach," I said, putting on my most serious face. "She brought it up, so we should help her make it happen—that's respect. If she chickens out, then she's just being phony. The Wheeler family can't have a phony matriarch running the show."

That was the perfect setup—neither too much nor too little, just right.

Dad was obsessed with keeping up appearances. He could tolerate his son being a slacker and his daughter mooching off the family, but he'd never let our family get played or be made a laughingstock.

"Alright," Dad said, grabbing his phone and dialing up his personal banker. "Shut down all the family cards under my name. Right this second."

Once he hung up, Dad gave me a searching look. "So, what about you? Now that the cards are cut off, how are you gonna pay for stuff?"

I shot him a playful wink. "Dad, did you forget? On my eighteenth birthday, Grandpa set up a trust fund for me. Every month, the trust automatically deposits money into my account. Honestly, I barely ever touched that money."

Dad suddenly got it, then burst out laughing.

Truth was, in our whole family, I was the only one who was truly financially independent.

That was a secret only Dad, my late grandpa, and I knew.

The next morning, the storm hit right on schedule. The first one to blow up was my mom, Claire.

She was out shopping with her squad of plastic girlfriends at Hermès, picking out three of the latest Himalaya bags.

When it was time to pay, the salesgirl smiled and said, "Sorry, Mrs. Wheeler, your card isn't going through."

Mom was completely thrown off. She tried three different cards, but every single one got declined.

With her friends giving her those looks, Mom practically bolted out of the store, totally embarrassed.

The first thing she did when she got home was storm over and yell at me, "June! Are you behind this? Why are all my cards suddenly frozen?"

I was chilling in the garden, enjoying my afternoon tea, with a handsome bartender I'd just hired to whip up fancy mocktails for me.

"Mom, take it easy," I said, handing her a freshly mixed Sunset Gold. "We're just going along with Geneva's idea. Everyone in the family has to stand on their own now."

"Independent, my ass!" Mom slammed her hand on the table, fuming. "How am I supposed to be independent? Where am I supposed to make money? You want me to go out and dance in the park for cash?"

I just shrugged. "Maybe you should ask Geneva. She's the self-proclaimed expert on independent women."

Speak of the devil, and Geneva appeared.

Just then, Geneva and Danny, came strolling in arm in arm, both loaded down with shopping bags. They looked like they'd just come back from a major luxury shopping spree.

"Mom, what's got you so worked up?" Danny asked, looking totally clueless.

"Is your card still working?" Mom asked, like she'd just found her savior.

Danny flashed his black card with a smug grin. "Of course. Geneva wanted to buy me a gift, but I told her she didn't have to..."

Before Danny could finish, his phone started ringing.

It was the bank, chasing him down about his card. "Hello, Mr. Wheeler. You've spent 600 thousand dollars today on your card ending in 8888, way over your limit. Pay up ASAP or your credit's gonna take a hit."

The call was on speaker, so the whole garden could hear every word.

Danny's face turned a deep shade of purple right before our eyes. That's when it hit him. His so-called black card was just an add-on card on Dad's account, with a sky-high limit.

But his own salary was only 15 thousand dollars a month. Forgetting buying all this stuff, Danny couldn't even meet the minimum spend for a single designer bag.

Geneva just stood there, totally speechless, as her shopping bags hit the ground with a smack. She was sure Danny's card was his own.

I took a sip of my Sunset Gold. It was sweet and delicious, just perfect. I was feeling pretty damn great too.