My Whole Family Opened the Family Blind Boxes, So I Cut Ties

The first blind-box set I designed sold out, and I got three million as my cut.

Mom threw a celebration dinner and set out nine family blind boxes in the living room.

Everyone in this family pitched in, so today we split the money by luck of the draw.

My sister opened the first one.

Eight hundred thousand, to pay off Amy Sullivan's mortgage.

My brother opened the second.

One point eight million, to open Ian Sullivan's shop.

Mom and Dad opened the third.

Four hundred thousand, retirement travel.

Three million, and nothing left.

My turn.

Catherine Sullivan quits her job, comes home, and takes care of her parents for the rest of their lives.

The whole family clapped.

Amy hugged me, smiling.

"You've got talent. You can always make more."

Ian waved the card in his hand.

"Cat, family matters more than money."

I picked up the box in front of him.

"If it's all luck of the draw, then let's trade."

Mom slapped my hand away.

"No trading!"

I looked at her.

"Why?"

She clutched the box to her chest.

"Because this one was never yours to begin with."

...

I pulled my hand back.

"If you can't trade, how is it a blind box?"

Dad's face darkened.

"Today is your celebration, not a chance for you to interrogate your parents."

I looked at the cards on the table.

"You take my three million to throw a party, then split the money among yourselves?"

Amy held her box tighter.

"What do you mean, split it among ourselves?"

"Your brother-in-law's business is bad. I pay the mortgage on my own."

"This eight hundred thousand just gets me through a rough patch."

Ian slipped his card into his pocket too.

"I'm opening a trendy toy shop. From now on I'll sell nothing but your work, Cat."

"It's not like the one point eight million went to a stranger."

I looked at him.

"Who said you could sell my work?"

Ian laughed.

"We're family. Why are we even talking about permission?"

Mom pulled out a sheet of paper.

The three million was already divided.

Eight hundred thousand for Amy.

One point eight million for Ian.

Four hundred thousand for Mom and Dad.

Every bank account number was filled in.

At the bottom was a space left for my signature.

"Sign it, and go to the bank tomorrow to make the transfers."

Mom held the pen out to me.

"So the family doesn't fall out over money."

I didn't take it.

"This money is my cut from my own work."

Dad set his teacup down hard.

"Without us raising you, what could you ever have drawn?"

"You think paintbrushes were free when you were little?"

"You think college tuition was free?"

Amy's eyes went red too.

"Catherine, do you really think the family never helped you?"

"That old computer of mine before I got married, didn't I leave it for you?"

That computer took half an hour just to boot up.

She only dumped it on me because she couldn't sell it secondhand.

Later I pulled all-nighters on freelance jobs and bought my first new computer myself.

But Mom kept telling everyone:

Amy gave her little sister the best computer, and that's how Catherine got where she is today.

Ian rapped his knuckles on the table.

"Cat, don't just keep track of what everyone owes you. Family can't be counted down to the last cent."

"Then hand your one point eight million over to your sister."

He shut up at once.

Amy clutched her box tighter too.

Mom glared at me.

"You know perfectly well they're all struggling, and you're deliberately stirring things up."

"You've got three million. You can make more next year."

"If they miss this chance, they might never turn their lives around."

I pointed at my own card.

"They take the money, so why am I the one who has to quit my job?"

Mom sighed.

"Your father and I are getting old."

"Your sister has a family."

"Your brother needs to open his shop."

"You're the only one who's free."

"I'm not free."

"The company built me a studio. There's a new project at the end of the year."

Dad sneered.

"You draw a few little toys and think you're somebody? The company runs just fine without you."

"But if your parents don't have you, who's going to look after us?"

My chest ached, tight with it.

Back when I made no money, they said painting was a dead end.

Now that I make money, they say anyone can paint.

My success could be split.

My job could be thrown away.

Only their mortgage, their shop, and their old age were allowed to suffer nothing.

Mom pushed the pen into my hand.

"Transfer the money first."

"We'll open the rest of the boxes after dinner."

I put the pen down.

"I'm not signing until I've seen them all."

Dad stood up.

"Catherine, don't push your luck."

"Every relative knows today we threw you a celebration dinner."

"If you make a scene and humiliate this whole family, don't ever come through that door again."

Amy grabbed his arm.

"Dad, don't be angry."

She turned to talk me down.

"It's just a family game."

"You do whatever you draw. Don't ruin everyone's fun."

"A minute ago you said the boxes couldn't be traded. Now it's just a game?"

Her face froze.

Ian opened the cake. My name wasn't on it.

Just eight words:One Family, One Heart, Sharing the Success

Mom picked up her phone.

"Everyone come over for a photo."

Amy stood behind the eight-hundred-thousand card.

Ian held up his one point eight million.

Mom and Dad held their retirement travel card.

Only in front of me sat the resignation and lifelong caretaking.

The shutter clicked.

They smiled like they'd really won a prize.

While the cake was being cut, the leftover boxes were shoved against the wall.

I bent down to pick up a box that had fallen to the floor. There was a red dot on the bottom.

Then I turned over the few we'd already opened.

The bottom of Amy's was a blue dot.

Ian's was a black dot.

The bottom of mine was a red dot too.

The remaining five boxes were marked the same way.

Two red, two black, one blue.

While Mom was handing out cake, I switched the positions of the red box and the black box.

Amy came back carrying a plate.

She glanced once at the bottoms and instantly swapped the two boxes back.

The move was practiced, without the slightest pause.

I watched her.

She'd known all along.

Which of these nine blind boxes belonged to whom.

I picked up the black-dot box.

Mom's hand came down on it at once.

"Put it back."

"I haven't opened mine yet."

"That one isn't yours."

The words were out before she caught herself.

I looked at her.

"So you all know what's inside each one?"

"How is this a blind-box game, then?"

Mom let go.

"The colors are just so they line up neatly."

Amy jumped in.

"I switched them back a second ago because I didn't want to mess up the order."

"What order?"

She bent her head over her cake.

"However Mom arranges them, that's how we draw."

"Do you have to make it sound so ugly? We're family."

Dad taped a set of rules to the wall.

Whatever you draw, you accept.

No swapping, no take-backs.

Refuse to honor it, and you've chosen to leave the family.

I asked,

"What does 'leave the family' mean?"

Dad said coldly,

"From now on, when good things come to this house, don't expect to come back for a share."

Ian grinned and waved his card for one point eight million.

"Cat, you don't need this little bit from the family."

"Don't break Mom and Dad's hearts over a few boxes."

They were dividing up my three million.

And what they threatened me with was losing the right to a share of our parents' things later.

Mom set the boxes back in place.

"Keep drawing."

She handed the blue-dot box to Amy.

Amy opened it.

Video-call Mom once a week.

Mom's eyes went red.

"A daughter really is the tender one."

Amy hugged her.

"Forget once a week. Any day you miss me, I'll call."

Another round of applause for her.

Mom passed the black-dot box to Ian.

Have dinner with Dad once a month.

Dad couldn't stop smiling.

"My son's all grown up."

Ian poured him a drink.

"No matter how busy I get, I'll always make time for you, Dad."

Then it was my turn.

Mom didn't let me choose.

She just pushed the red-dot box across to me.

I opened it.

Pay twenty thousand a month in eldercare fees.

You must be present when your parents are ill, no hired caregivers in your place.

Move back home before the end of the year.

Amy makes one phone call a week.

Ian eats one dinner a month.

I have to pay, take care of them in person, and give up my own life on top of it.

I set the card down.

"The first one made me quit my job."

"This one makes me pay twenty thousand a month."

"After I quit, where's the twenty thousand supposed to come from?"

Dad answered fast.

"Three million lasts a long time."

Ian laughed too.

"You can pick up some little jobs from home."

"Draw new products for my shop and I'll still cut you a commission."

"My work doesn't go into your shop."

His face darkened.

"Family helps each other. Why do you make it sound like theft?"

Mom slapped the table.

"Ian opening a shop is serious business."

"You sit at a computer drawing all day. What's the harm in doing a few for him while you're at it?"

"That's my job."

"You give him one point eight million to open a shop, then expect me to supply him for free?"

Amy frowned.

"Cat, why is everything you say so sharp now?"

"If your brother makes it big, isn't that your face too?"

"You took three million, and you still have to hoard every bit of the benefit for yourself?"

I turned to her.

"What about your eight hundred thousand? Want to count that as an investment in the shop too?"

Her hand closed over her card at once.

"That's different."

Mom picked up a plate.

"Enough arguing."

"Stay the night. Start getting used to moving back."

I pushed open the door to my room.

The bed was gone.

The desk was gone too.

The room was packed with cardboard boxes.

Ian's fill light stood by the window.

On the wall hung a countdown to the shop's opening.

My award certificates and old sketchbooks had been stuffed into a trash bag and shoved behind the door.

I rushed back to the living room.

"Who touched my room?"

Mom didn't even look up.

"Your brother needs a studio for the shop, and you never come home anyway."

"Then where do I sleep when I move back?"

"You can set up a folding bed in the living room."

"You make me quit and come home to take care of you, and you didn't even leave me a bed?"

Dad took a sip of his drink.

"One person can sleep anywhere."

"Ian's shop is about this whole family's future."

Ian walked into the room and kicked the trash bag on the floor.

"Cat, don't touch that stock."

"The presale's already live. If you damage anything, you pay for it."

I opened the box on top.

It was full of blind-box packaging printed with my new character.

That character hadn't been made public yet.

Two weeks ago, Mom said she liked one of the sketches and asked me to send it to her to see.

I only sent it that once.

Ian snatched the box away.

"What are you doing going through my stuff?"

"Who said you could use that design?"

"Mom sent it to me."

He said it without a shred of shame.

"Family uses it once, and I need your permission?"

I pulled up his shop page.

The presale had already taken in one hundred twenty thousand.

At the very bottom of the promo image, one small line.

Original Design: Ian Sullivan

I looked up at him.

What he'd stolen wasn't just a drawing.

He wanted to take my name along with it.

I opened the chat with my mother.

The sketch was still there.

Sent two weeks ago.

Below it, her reply.

Mom just wants a look. I won't show anyone.

I held the phone up to her face.

You said you wouldn't show anyone.

She barely glanced at it.

Ian's your brother. He doesn't count as anyone.

The company hasn't even released it, and he's already put it up for presale.

That only made her cross.

It's one drawing.

You made three million. Would it kill you to give your brother one?

I turned to Ian.

Take the listings down now, and refund everyone who preordered.

He snatched my phone out of my hand.

Why should I? The character was mine to begin with!

I reached to grab it back.

Ian tossed the phone to our father.

It hit the corner of the table, and the screen cracked.

Something twisted in my chest.

Everything for work was on that phone.

My father closed his hand around it.

Stop making a scene.

Sign the division agreement first.

I stared at him.

Give me back my phone.

Sign.

Give it back!

I lunged at him.

My father shoved me off.

The small of my back slammed into a cardboard box, and the blind boxes inside spilled across the floor.

My mother didn't reach out to steady me.

She crouched down to gather the merchandise first.

That's all money!

Can you afford to replace it?

Amy stood off to the side.

Catherine, don't lose your mind.

Turning the house upside down won't make that money any cleaner.

I pushed against the wall and got to my feet.

What do you mean, cleaner?

She flicked a glance at Ian.

This character. Ian drew it first, when you were kids.

I froze.

Say that again.

Amy looked away.

Back then you two drew together every day.

He drew a little round-headed figure, and you just adjusted it from his.

Ian jumped in at once.

You took my idea and made three million off it.

And now you won't even let me use it to open a shop?

My mother nodded.

I remember. Ian loved drawing this when he was little.

My father said it too.

You're just older, so you drew it better than he did.

The four of them stood together.

One line after another, like they'd rehearsed it.

I laughed then.

When Ian was little, he couldn't even hold a pencil straight.

And now you're telling me he drew my work?

My father turned and went into the bedroom.

When he came back out, there was an old sketchbook in his hand.

The cover had yellowed.

Across it, in black marker: Ian's Work

He opened to the first page.

It was the exact character that had sold out.

Round head.

Short arms.

A small chip missing from the left ear.

Identical to the finished figure now.

Ian held the sketchbook up to my face.

Still want proof?

I reached for it.

My father pulled it back immediately.

This is Ian's. Don't touch it.

I stared at the cover.

I'd seen this notebook before.

It hadn't looked like this.

Amy took out her phone and pointed it at me.

Everybody get a good look.

Designer Catherine Sullivan made her money off her brother's drawings, and now she wants to snatch the original away too.

I blocked the lens.

Stop filming me.

She stepped back.

What have you got to feel guilty about?

If you've got the nerve, say it in front of the company, that this character has nothing to do with Ian at all.

Ian had already turned the sketchbook into a video.

The title read:

My Own Sister Took My Childhood Work, and Refuses to Admit It Now That She's Famous

In the video, my mother testified with red eyes.

My father flipped through the old sketchbook.

Amy narrated how it had happened when they were kids.

Ian sat in front of the camera, his voice shaking.

I never wanted to fight my sister for three million.

I just want her to admit that half of this is mine too.

He said he didn't want the money.

But the comments were all demanding it for him.

The original's in her hands and she still says it's hers?

Sister made three million, what's wrong with giving her brother one point eight?

The whole family testified and she's still denying it?

My work phone rang.

Laura Fleming, the project lead, sounded rushed.

What's this video going around online?

Your family is saying the character isn't your original work. The company has already paused payment.

I gripped the phone.

The work is mine.

I can prove it.

Get the proof to us before tomorrow morning.

She paused.

Catherine, the new series is on hold too, for now.

The line went dead.

My mother took the division agreement back.

The moment you sign, Ian will post a video to clear it up.

He'll say it was just family messing around, no stolen work, nothing.

Ian pulled out another document, a three-year cooperation contract.

It read:

Every month I would provide four new designs for his shop, charge no design fee, and have no claim to any of the shop's income.

Amy pressed the pen into my hand.

You're about to lose the three million and your job both.

What are you still being stubborn about?

My mother opened the last blind box.

No money inside, no task card either, just four statements.

Father, mother, sister, brother, all of them signed.

Certifying that Ian was the original creator.

My mother set the livestream for nine the next morning.

You think it over tonight.

Sign, and we tell the truth.

Don't sign, and tomorrow everyone gets to see how you stole your own brother's work.

I didn't sign.

Mom snatched the division agreement out of my hand.

"You're just going to sit there and watch the company freeze your work?"

"Split the money and this all goes away."

I picked up my phone with its cracked screen.

"So these nine blind boxes were never a celebration."

"They were the price tag you put on me."

Dad opened the door.

"Don't sign, then get out."

"And don't come crawling back to beg us before the livestream starts."

I dragged my suitcase out. No one stopped me.

Amy chased me to the door and only said one thing.

"If you really leave, what happens to my eight hundred thousand?"

I looked at her.

"You should ask the people who gave you that eight hundred thousand."

"Not the person you all robbed."

Her face changed, and she slammed the door hard.

I went back to the studio.

The sample of the first character was still sitting on the desk.

A corner of its left ear was missing.

It wasn't a design choice.

When I was thirteen, I was sharpening a pencil with a utility knife and cut into the original drawing.

I couldn't bear to redraw it, so I left the notch there.

Later it became this character's most distinctive mark.

Ian really did have a copy of that same picture book when he was little.

That was the year he kept tearing up my drawings.

I had my prize-winning piece printed into a coloring book and wrote his name on the cover.

I hoped that once he had his own book, he'd stop touching mine.

But Mom took that gift and used it to name me a thief.

I opened the cabinet and took out an old magazine.

The cover was already curling at the edges.

My award certificate was tucked inside.

At nine the next morning, Ian went live right on schedule.

The nine family blind boxes were lined up in the shot.

Mom and Dad were dressed neatly.

Amy sat beside Mom, her eyes red and swollen.

The stream had barely started when Mom began to cry.

"Catherine has loved drawing since she was little."

"But that first character was drawn by her younger brother."

"We don't want to ruin our daughter."

"We only want to get justice for our son."

Ian brought out the old picture book.

He turned it page by page for the camera.

Every page had that same round-headed little man.

On the cover, Ian's name was captured clear as day.

Comments scrolled fast.

The originals are all in the brother's hands.

There's no way the whole family would lie together.

Made the money, then kicked the brother out. Disgusting.

Amy wiped her tears.

"I saw it with my own eyes when I was a kid."

"Little Ian drew first, and Catherine touched it up next to him."

Last night she'd said she only vaguely remembered.

Now she'd even scripted who sat where.

Dad brought out four signed statements.

"We're willing to stand behind every word."

"Catherine, do you dare face us in person?"

Ian held the three-year cooperation agreement up to the camera.

"I don't want an apology from her."

"I just want her to supply my shop."

"She takes the bigger share. I just need to eat."

On that contract, I didn't get a single cent.

Yet he told everyone he only wanted to eat.

The viewer count kept climbing.

A message came in from the company.

We're watching. Please explain as soon as possible.

The moment Mom saw me enter the stream, she called out.

"Catherine, Mom's giving you one last chance."

"Sign it."

"The three million is still the family's."

"Your brother will clear your name too."

I didn't say anything.

She thought I was scared.

She pushed the rest of the blind boxes up to the camera.

"As long as the family sits down together again, everything's fine."

Amy urged me too.

"Mom and Dad are giving you a way out."

"Don't throw away your job over money."

I carried the old magazine back to the door of the house.

The door wasn't shut.

They were waiting for me to bow my head.

I stepped into the frame.

Ian immediately held out a pen.

"Cat, just sign."

"I'll delete the video right away."

I didn't take it. I picked up that old picture book.

Dad pressed down on the other side.

"This is little Ian's original work."

I opened to the cover.

"When exactly did you say he drew this?"

"Seven years old."

"Who can prove it?"

Mom jumped in to answer.

"Our whole family can prove it."

"Good."

I put the picture book back on the desk and took out the old magazine.

Dad's face changed.

Mom stared at the cover and said nothing for a long time.

Amy reached out on instinct.

I opened first to page thirty-six.

The livestream camera fixed on the paper.

The same round head.

The same left ear with a corner missing.

Below it was a line of print.

First Prize, Children's Drawing Competition

Title: The Little Man with a Missing Ear

Artist: Catherine Sullivan

The magazine's publication date was two years before Ian's picture book.

I laid the award certificate down on top of the four statements.

"When this drawing was published, Ian was five."

"That book in your hands isn't his original work."

I looked at Mom.

"It's the coloring book I had printed for him after I won the award."

"You took the gift I gave my brother and used it to prove he was the artist."

"And then you pushed me to hand him the three million I earned with it too."