Page 12 of Gold Rush

“Why?” he barks.

“I still haven’t gotten access to my trust.”

“I’m paying your bills,” Dad states.

“That’s not the same thing.” To move ahead with plans for the foundation, I need to invest. Sign a lease for office space. Hire employees and be able to pay their salaries. Execute a launch event. I can’t charge any of that to the account my father funds. If I did, he’d probably have the transactions flagged for fraud. “It’s my inheritance, Dad.”

“Funded by my money, Flynn,” he retorts, missing Mom’s pursed lips.

I’m not sure if her disapproval is on my behalf or her own. They’ve been married for thirty years. Long-term exposure to Julian’s frequent selfishness might have eased the sting of him not referring to their wealth as our money.

“Which you said I’d receive after law school. It’s after law school.”

“That was a good start.”

I go still at the word start.

Dad reaches for his glass again. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you paid classmates to take all your exams for you. We’ll see if you pass the bar.”

He knows I was at the top of my class, so of course I cheated. If I’d graduated no laude, rather than summa cum laude, I’d have been lazy. I literally can’t win.

Stupidly, it never occurred to me Dad might back out of our agreement. I had my doubts that he’d truly cut me off if I’d refused to go to law school—for the optics of having a destitute son, if nothing else—but I thought he’d ensure I received my trust fund if I jumped through enough hoops.

“So, I’ll get it when I pass the bar?”

Thank fuck I spent the whole summer so far studying.

“We’ll see.”

“We’ll see?” I scowl. “What the hell does that mean, Dad?”

“It means you’ll receive your trust—not just the first installment, the entire amount—as soon as you get married. That’s a commitment you can’t cheat your way into.”

I laugh once, waiting for him to laugh too.

He doesn’t.

Mom refills her glass of champagne. I wonder if she’s wishing she’d ordered something stronger.

I wish I’d ordered a double.

“That’s … ridiculous,” I say, still certain this is a joke.

He’s simply starting with this condition so I’ll agree to whatever the real requirement is.

“That is life, Flynn. You get married, and I’ll agree you’ve finally grown up. Professional responsibility is one thing, but I’m not about to hand over a fortune for you to blow on cars and alcohol and inappropriate women. If you don’t pass the bar, the firm will fire you, and you’ll wind up right where you started.”

I stare at him, stunned. “No. I’m not—no.”

Dad nods. “Then you’re cut off.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Three years of law school. Months of foundation plans. All a waste, if that happens. My salary from the firm won’t come close to covering the monthly rent of the condo I just leased, never mind my other expenses. Or the costs associated with my other plans.

I glance at Mom. She appears unhappy, but she stays silent. She won’t argue with Dad after he’s decided something. She won’t even attempt to change his mind, lest he decide to oversee how she spends his money too.

“If I flew to Vegas and got married tonight, I’d receive my trust tomorrow?”

Dad sighs. “Of course not. And that sort of suggestion proves why this was necessary. Despite what you might think, I don’t enjoy controlling my adult son’s life. You’ve made it necessary with your refusal to act your age. I know Crew Kensington isn’t overseeing Christopher.”