I have spent the last few days sifting through 6,840 messages of birthday dinner receipts, reunion dinner logistics explained to a grown man like he is a tourist, and a thirty-four-year-old baby of the family negotiating a discount on his own mother's cake.
You are not siblings. You are not even a family. You are a debt collection agency with one employee, two silent partners and a client who pays in cat stickers, all arguing in the name of a mother who has never seen a word of this and would disown the lot of you if she did.
Let's open the books.
The Shareholders: Four Adults, One Wallet
Veronica: "Jie" / The Martyr With a Receipt Folder
Veronica is the eldest, the treasurer and the only person in this chat who was never elected and can never resign. She pays for everything first, splits it to the cent, and then adds a heart, which in this family is a letter of demand wearing lipstick. After Ma's birthday dinner, the invoices began:



