Lily's Apartment, Tenth Day After the Win, 8:47 PM
The legal letter arrived via courier during dinner. A thick parchment envelope, the sender field stamped with "Hollingworth & Sterling LLP"—the New York firm most adept at family law and inheritance disputes.
Lily's fingers trembled as she tore it open.
"NOTICE OF FORMAL PROCEEDING: I, Patricia Marie Thorne, as the eldest daughter of the late Margaret Thorne (Lily's grandmother), hereby petition the court pursuant to Article 81 of the New York State Adult Guardianship Law for an evaluation of the capacity of my niece, Lily Anne Thorne, and consideration for the appointment of a co-guardian..."
The subsequent legalese blurred into inkblots. Lily only caught key phrases: "risk of dissipation," "lack of sound judgment," "susceptibility to undue influence," "need for protective intervention."
Co-guardian. That meant Patricia would have control over her finances, approve her expenses, even restrict who she could associate with.
The $85 million had become a mirror, reflecting the greediest facets of human nature.
The doorbell rang again.
Lily looked through the peephole. This time, two men. One around fifty, wearing a slightly outdated suit, his smile too eager; the other younger, holding a folder.
"Cousin Lily!" the older man called. "I'm your cousin Dennis! I held you when you were a baby! Open up, we just came to congratulate—"
"I don't know you," Lily said through the door, trying to keep her voice steady. "Please leave, or I'll call the police."
"Don't be like that, dear!" Another voice joined—Patricia, emerging from the stairwell landing, holding a key. "I happen to have a spare. The landlady was very understanding."
The sound of a key turning in the lock.
Lily took two steps back, her heart pounding. She grabbed her phone, dialed Marcus's number, and put it on speaker.
The door opened.
"Look at you, hiding alone in this little dump." Patricia sighed as she walked in, Dennis and the other man following. "We're just worried about you, Lily. All this money... you're only twenty-two. The world is dangerous."
"Get out." Lily raised her phone. "I'm recording, and I've already called the police."
Patricia's smile didn't falter. "If the police come, I'll tell them I'm an overly concerned but well-meaning aunt. And you..." She glanced at the coffee table littered with takeout containers, the unopened moving boxes in the corner, the laptop on the table glowing with Bloom's code. "...refusing to move, still writing this 'little thing,' hanging out with those... lower-class friends. A judge will understand."
Dennis took a step closer. "Listen, Lily. Auntie found you a wonderful psychologist, a respected expert. Just a simple evaluation to prove you're of sound mind and capable of managing your assets, and this all goes away."
"And then what?" Lily stared at him. "Who decides the results? Your doctor?"
"Impartial, of course." The younger man spoke, his voice smooth as a lawyer's. "I'm Andrew Sterling, of Hollingworth & Sterling. We have a duty to our client's interests. And Ms. Thorne, as one of your closest blood relatives—"
"Closest blood relative?" Lily laughed, a sharp, unfamiliar sound. "Where was she during the bankruptcy? When Dad was in the hospital? Did she call me once in the past two years?"
A crack appeared in Patricia's composure for the first time. "That was a different time. Now you have responsibilities, Lily. To the family. Your father's debts, your mother's side of the family... everyone is hoping for your help."
"Hoping for my money."
"What an ugly way to put it." Patricia shook her head. "We're family."
Footsteps sounded in the stairwell. Marcus burst in, out of breath, still holding a convenience store bag—soup for Lily.
"What's going on?" He stepped in front of Lily, a simple gesture that made her eyes burn.
"Family matter." Andrew the lawyer said calmly. "Doesn't concern you, sir."
"Her business concerns me." Marcus stood his ground. "Now please leave. Lily has made herself clear."
A standoff. The air was taut as a wire.
Finally, Patricia yielded. "Fine. We'll go." She walked to the door, turning to give Lily a look too complex to decipher—greed, anger, a hint of... guilt? "Think it over, Lily. Once legal proceedings start, they're long and public. The media will love this story: 'Lottery Girl vs. Greedy Relatives.' Not good for you, or for Bloom."
They left.
Lily slumped into a chair, covering her face with her hands.
Marcus closed the door, slid the chain lock, then silently started clearing the takeout boxes from the table. "I brought chicken soup. My grandma's recipe, cures all kinds of bastard relatives."
Lily didn't move.
"Lily?"
"They won't stop." Her voice came muffled through her fingers. "Patricia never gives up halfway. When she wanted my mother's jade brooch as a child, she'd come 'visit' every day until mother 'willingly' gave it to her."
Marcus sat opposite her. "Then we fight. Get a better lawyer. Counter-sue for harassment. Make the records public—"
"And become tabloid headlines?" Lily looked up, eyes red and swollen. "'Bankrupt Socialite Wins Big, Battles Relatives in Court'? Bloom will drown in that scandal before it even launches."
Silence. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space.
"So what's your plan?" Marcus asked softly.
Lily stood and walked to the window. The Brooklyn night sky was stained dark orange by city lights, no stars visible.
"Advisor James suggested I leave New York temporarily." She said. "Go to Europe for a few months, let things cool down. He said Patricia's petition needs me present to progress. If I leave..."
"Running away?"
"Strategic retreat." Lily turned, the familiar light reigniting in her eyes—the light Marcus saw during hackathons, the 48-hours-no-sleep-problem-solving light. "And I have an opportunity in Paris."
"What opportunity?"
"The Duval Design Institute's summer program. I applied three months ago, got the acceptance yesterday. Six-week course, focused on user experience design—exactly what Bloom needs most."
Marcus's eyes widened. "You're going to Paris? Now? When does it start?"
"Next week." Lily walked to her laptop and pulled up the email. "See. Full scholarship, even includes a housing stipend. The only requirement is covering my own living expenses."
"You can obviously afford that." Marcus said dryly.
"No." Lily shook her head. "If I use the lottery money, Patricia's lawyers will say I'm 'dissipating assets, lacking planning.' But if I use the scholarship and my savings..."
She clicked open another folder. "This is the money I saved from working the past two years: $8,742. With the housing from the program, it's enough for six weeks in Paris."
Marcus looked at the screen, then at Lily's face. "You're serious. You're going to pretend the lottery doesn't exist."
"Not pretend." Lily took a deep breath. "I'm going to prove—to the court, to the media, to everyone—that with or without that $85 million, I'm the same person. I'll keep working, keep studying, keep building Bloom. The money is just... background noise."
"What about the money itself? $85 million won't fit under a mattress."
"James will lock it into the most conservative trust. Until I'm twenty-five, I can only withdraw a basic living allowance each month—just enough for this apartment's rent and insurance, the rest automatically reinvested." Lily's smile held bitter wisdom. "Patricia wants to accuse me of dissipation? Let her try to challenge an irrevocable trust designed by Goldman Sachs."
Marcus was quiet for a long time. Then he smiled, shaking his head. "You know, sometimes you make me feel like an idiot. I'm thinking about optimizing databases, and you're already playing 3D chess."
"4D." Lily corrected. "Including the time axis."
She looked out the window, where the Manhattan skyline cut into the night like jagged teeth. Somewhere out there, under one of countless lights, Patricia was probably planning her next move.
But Lily had already seen the other end of the board.
Paris. Six weeks. No relatives, no media, no weight of $85 million.
Just her, her design course, and Bloom's future.
"Do me a favor," she said, her voice regaining its usual firmness. "Watch the place while I'm gone. If Patricia comes again..."
"I'll tell her you're pursuing artistic dreams." Marcus grinned. "That's sacred ground in Brooklyn."
Lily started packing. The first thing into the suitcase was the old laptop and all backups of Bloom's code.
The second, the pen from Marcus's grandfather.
The third, a blank sketchbook—she planned to record every Paris moment there, not for Instagram, but as material for Bloom's future "Real Moments" feature.
Late at night, after Marcus left, Lily stood alone in the center of the apartment. This small, shabby, roach-infested space had been her only sanctuary for the past year.
Now, she was leaving it, temporarily.
Her phone vibrated. A text from an unknown number:
"Ms. Thorne, I'm a reporter from the Daily News. We've learned your aunt has petitioned the court for guardianship. Any comment?"
Lily stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Then she deleted the text and turned off her phone.
From today, Lily Thorne would temporarily disappear.
In her place would be an ordinary student studying design in Paris.
A free person without the burden of $85 million.