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.

That word almost made me laugh. He still believed every consequence in our family began with my jealousy rather than his decisions.

Brooke took the phone and admitted copying the report, but claimed she had done it to save the jobs of two hundred employees. She said I should have remained silent because the analysis had originally been about our family’s company anyway.

“You refused to help me when I asked,” I reminded her.

“You were always better at school,” she replied. “I was better with people. Dad said we were supposed to use our strengths together.”

His version of “together” apparently meant that I performed the work while Brooke received the title. I told her that if she used my research again, I would pursue the matter formally.

Dad ended the call by saying I was no longer welcome in his home. Mom sent a message later asking why I could not have shown more loyalty to the family, and I deleted it without responding.