The lawsuit arrived like a betrayal wrapped in legal stationery, a thick white envelope that said STERLING V. STERLING across the top as if my life had become a glitch in the system. I opened it alone in my Raleigh studio, the same place I had eaten five years of chicken and rice to buy the beach house that sat above the Atlantic like a promise I had made to myself and finally kept. The complaint said unjust enrichment. My parents said I owed them my success. My sister said I was actually insane. I looked at the papers and felt something colder than rage, something older than hurt, the recognition that the arithmetic of my childhood had followed me into cou… Continues…
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