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.

Dad looked at me instead of Eleanor. “You planned this because you want revenge.”

“If I wanted revenge, I would reject the application and let the lender dismantle everything. This proposal saves the employees you placed at risk.”

Brooke whispered that the offer was better than anything their advisers had expected. Dad ordered her to remain silent and declared that the company belonged to the Sullivan family.

“You made it clear which daughter you considered part of that family,” I said.

His voice dropped to the calm tone I remembered from our living room. “You were never suited to lead this business, Maya. You still aren’t.”

I closed the proposal. “Then you are free to leave without my investment.”

The meeting ended without an agreement. Dad walked out first, convinced I would soften once fear replaced anger, but Brooke remained behind after the doors closed.

She locked them and placed a thin blue folder on the table. Her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly dropped it.