“Arthur, tell her,” Helen said, her voice rising slightly. “Tell her we were teaching her self-reliance.”

“Arthur doesn’t have a say, Mother,” I said. “He never did.”

My father’s shoulders sagged, but he kept silent, staring at the floorboards.

“You wanted me to fail,” I said. “Because my success didn’t fit your narrative.”

“What narrative?” she snapped.

“The one where Derek is the golden boy who inherits the legacy, and I am the difficult daughter who should have married a partner at your firm.”

“Derek has an MBA from Wharton,” she said, as if stating a physical law.

“Derek has never had an original idea in his life,” I said.

Helen’s face flushed pink beneath her powder.

“Do not speak about your brother that way.”

“Why? Because it’s true?”

She took another step toward me, her heels clicking on the hardwood border of the rug.

“You have a chip on your shoulder that is going to ruin everything we have built,” she said.

“I built Solar Reach,” I said. “Not you. Not the family.”

“You use our name,” she said.

“It is my name too,” I said.