At eighteen, my father paid for my twin sister’s expensive university, apartment, laptop and car. He handed me $200 and said there would be no more because she was the better investment. I worked my way through college and built a life without him. Eight years later, his company desperately needed $40 million to survive. He entered the investment meeting, looked toward the person deciding his future—and dropped every folder in his hands.

Dad owned Sullivan Commercial Flooring, a company he had built into one of the largest regional contractors in Minnesota. He treated every relationship like a balance sheet, but until that afternoon, I had never realized he had assigned values to his children.

“So Brooke is an investment,” I said, “and I’m an expense.”

“You have always been independent,” he replied. “Consider this an opportunity to prove it.”

That night, I applied for every scholarship, work-study position and private grant I could find. River Valley offered me a partial academic award, but I would still need loans and a job to cover housing.

By August, Brooke had received new luggage, a laptop and a car for traveling between campus and internships. Dad handed me an envelope containing two hundred dollars and drove away before my bus arrived.

Inside the envelope was a note written in his neat business handwriting.

Use this wisely. There will not be more.