“You took Dad’s truck.”

“No,” I said. “I took back mine.”

He made a disgusted noise. “Are you actually insane?”

I leaned back in my chair. “Was Dad insane when he called me an idiot in front of thirty people?”

“It was a joke.”

“Then he should be laughing.”

Silence.

Then the expected pivot. “You embarrassed him.”

I almost smiled. “Good. Maybe now he remembers what it feels like.”

Dean exhaled sharply. “You gave it to him.”

“I presented it to him. He rejected the spirit of the gift before accepting the legal transfer.”

“That’s the most lawyer-brained nonsense I’ve ever heard.”

“Interesting, since the dealership agrees with me.”

That stopped him for a moment.

Because here was what my family never understood about me: I wasn’t a lawyer, but I managed procurement and vendor contracts for a large energy services company. Eight-figure equipment agreements, asset custody language, delivery liability, transfer conditions. I read every line because people get generous with other people’s money and careless with their own pride.