“She’s crazy!” Garrett shrieked. “She’s jealous!”
“Check your email, Dad,” I said calmly. “I just sent you the forensic report on the ‘Apex Consulting’ payments. Garrett has stolen $300,000 from the company accounts in the last eighteen months.”
Dad fumbled for his phone. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely unlock it. He scrolled, his eyes widening with every swipe. He looked at Garrett with a mixture of horror and betrayal.
“Garrett?” Dad’s voice broke. “Is this true?”
“I… I was going to pay it back!” Garrett yelled. “It was a loan! For the boat! I deserved it! I sat in those boring meetings for ten years while she was out playing startup!”
“You stole from us,” Dad whispered, sinking back into his chair. “From the family.”
“You let him,” I said, my voice cutting through the drama. “You put him in charge because he was a man. You ignored my honors degree, my code, my vision. You chose him. And he robbed you.”
Dad looked at me, his eyes wet. But then, the old pride flared up. He slammed his fist on the table. “The deal is off! I won’t sell! I’ll burn the company to the ground before I let you take it as some… some revenge plot!”
“You can’t,” I said simply. “The board approved the sale unanimously yesterday. The contracts are binding. If you back out now, the breach of contract penalties will bankrupt you personally. You’ll lose the house. You’ll lose everything.”
I walked over to the window, looking out at the dark lawn. “You have two choices, Dad. You can accept the deal, retire with dignity, and let me save this company. Or you can fight me, lose, and watch Garrett go to prison for corporate fraud.”
Cliffhanger: Dad looked at his golden son, then at his successful daughter. The grandfather clock in the hall struck the hour, a funeral toll for his ego. He opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound that came out was a defeated sob.
The dinner dissolved into chaos. Garrett stormed out, screaming threats. Mom was weeping silently into her napkin. Megan was frantically typing on her phone, probably realizing her “rich lifestyle” was now dependent on the sister she had mocked.
I found myself in the kitchen an hour later. The house was quiet, save for the distant shouting of Garrett packing his bags upstairs.
Maria, the housekeeper, was washing dishes. She turned and looked at me. There was no pity in her eyes, only respect.
“Do you want tea, Miss Morgan?”
“Tequila, Maria. The good stuff.”
She poured me a glass. “You showed them.”
“I did.” I took a sip. It burned, grounding me. “Does it make me a bad person?”
“It makes you a survivor,” she said.
The kitchen door swung open. It was Mom. She looked sober for the first time in years. The shock had burned the alcohol right out of her system.
“He’s broken,” she said simply. “He’s in the study, staring at the wall.”
“He broke himself, Mom. I just showed him the pieces.”
She walked over and leaned against the counter. “I knew.”
I looked at her. “Knew what?”
“That you were special. That you were too big for this house.” She reached out and touched my hand. Her fingers were cold. “I should have protected you. When he dismissed you… when he laughed at you. I should have screamed. But I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of being alone. Of losing the lifestyle.” She laughed bitterly. “And look where it got us. My son is a thief, and my daughter had to become a stranger to succeed.”
“I’m not a stranger, Mom. I’m just not the victim anymore.”
Suddenly, the front door slammed so hard the windows rattled. I ran to the hallway. Garrett was gone. But looking out the window, I saw smoke rising from the detached garage—where the company servers were backed up physically.
Cliffhanger: “Oh my god,” Megan screamed from the stairs. “He lit the garage on fire! He’s trying to burn the evidence!”
I didn’t think. I kicked off my heels and sprinted out the back door. The cold air hit my lungs like ice. The garage, a converted carriage house, was flickering with orange light.
“Call 911!” I screamed back at the house.
I reached the garage door. It was locked. I grabbed a garden stone and smashed the side pane, reaching in to unlock it. Smoke billowed out, choking me.
Inside, a pile of oily rags was burning near the server rack. Garrett hadn’t used gasoline; he’d used lighter fluid. It was sloppy, just like everything else he did.
I grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall. Pull. Aim. Squeeze.
The white foam coated the flames, hissing as it suffocated the fire. I sprayed until the canister was empty and the room was filled with chemical fog. I coughed, eyes streaming, checking the servers. The casings were scorched, but the lights were still blinking green. The data was safe.
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