Part 1The Day the Family Applauded My Downfall

The day my cousin reported me to the IRS, the whole family applauded him.

My aunt sent a voice text to the family group chat: "Brian did the right thing! It's time we find out just how much dirty money Chloe has really been making!"

A row of thumbs-up emojis followed below.

My mom didn't hit "like," but she didn't say anything to defend me, either.

I stared at the chat, then put my phone face down on the table.

I opened my laptop and typed a quick message to my accountant:

"Sarah, that audit report we discussed? Let’s finalize it now. I’m going to need it."

* * *

My name is Chloe Vance. I’m thirty-two years old.

I own a food trading company specializing in sourcing regional specialty goods for online distribution.

It’s not a massive empire.

But I employ twelve people, and I consistently pay around half a million dollars in taxes every year.

In our modest suburban town, I’m doing pretty well for myself.

But within my family, my business was never worth mentioning.

The only one worth talking about was my cousin.

Brian Walsh. My aunt Brenda’s only son. Three years older than me.

Growing up, every good thing in our family revolved around him.

During Christmas, my grandma would slip us cash.

Fifty bucks for me and my sister.

Two hundred for Brian.

"Brian’s a boy," Grandma would say. "He’s going to carry the family name."

In school, I ranked third in the entire district.

No one mentioned it at Sunday dinner.

Brian barely scraped through a two-year community college program, and my aunt threw a massive party for the whole family.

"Our Brian is a college man now!"

My mom sat there, smiling and nodding. "Yes, Brian is really making something of himself."

I kept my head down and ate, saying nothing.

Things like this happened too often for me to find them strange.

In our family, Brian was the sun.

The rest of us were just background noise.

After college, I didn't take a dime from my parents.

I worked three jobs in the city for three years, saved up fifteen thousand dollars, came back home, and started my first online store.

I went from packing boxes by myself to registering a corporation, renting a warehouse, and hiring staff.

In five years, I built it up to three million in annual revenue.

No one helped me.

No one invested in me.

My parents didn't even really know what my company actually did.

But they did know one thing—I was making money.

And once I was making money, I was useful.

"Chloe, your cousin wants to start a business. You should lend him some cash."

That was the first time my mom ever proactively called me to talk about money.

"How much?"

"Fifty thousand."

I was silent for five seconds.

"Mom, fifty thousand is not a small amount of money."

"We're family. Your cousin isn't going to stiff you. Your aunt said he’d pay it back in six months."

I didn't say anything.

"You make so much every month; fifty thousand shouldn't be a big deal to you, right?"

That last sentence is what made me agree.

Not because fifty thousand wasn't a big deal.

But because my mom had never "needed" me like that before.

Fifty thousand. Transferred.

No promissory note.

Because my mom said, "Why write a note? It ruins the family dynamic."

That was two years ago.

He hasn't paid back a single cent.

I brought it up once.

My aunt snapped over the phone, "Brian just started his business; cash flow is tight. You're a big CEO. Pressing family for this kind of money? How embarrassing would it be if people found out?"

I never brought it up again.

But I remembered it.

Every year, my accountant, Sarah, does a full internal audit.

Sarah was my college roommate, a certified public accountant with her own firm now.

She has handled my books since the day I incorporated.

"Chloe, your tax compliance is tighter than many major corporations," she tells me every year.

"I don't dare let it be otherwise," I’d laugh. "I’m a small business owner. I can't afford an audit."

That phrase eventually became my ace in the hole.

What I didn't know was that I would be forced to play that ace very soon.