At a family gathering to distribute the inheritance, my parents stunned….

The grand foyer was already buzzing with family members. Aunt Judith, my father’s sister, offered a genuine hug. Uncle Thomas, my mother’s brother, nodded politely from across the room where he nursed a whiskey.

Various cousins, some I hadn’t seen in years, milled about in small conversational clusters. Well, look who finally showed up, came my sister’s voice from the staircase. Harper descended with theatrical grace, every inch the corporate princess in her designer outfit and perfectly styled hair.

At thirty-one, she had our mother’s classic beauty paired with our father’s calculating eyes. Hello, Harper, I said, maintaining a neutral tone. Good to see you, too.

Is it? She air-kissed my cheek. Love the casual look you’ve got going. So brave of you.

I resisted touching my simple blouse and slacks, refusing to let her make me feel inadequate within five minutes of arrival. My parents emerged from the library, their expressions shifting from animation to polite acknowledgment when they spotted me. Amber, you made it, my mother Catherine said, as though my attendance had been uncertain.

She kissed the air near my cheek, careful not to smudge her immaculate makeup. My father gave my shoulder an awkward pat. Traffic wasn’t too bad, I hope.

It was fine, dad. Good, good. His attention was already wandering.

Harper, there you are. Stanford was just asking about those projections you prepared. Just like that, I was forgotten again as they swept Harper back toward the library, peppering her with questions about work matters.

Something’s never changed. Don’t let them get to you. The gruff voice came from behind me.

I turned to find Grandpa Maxwell watching from his wheelchair, a plaid blanket across his knees despite the warm spring evening. His eyes, however, remained as sharp and observant as ever beneath bushy white eyebrows. Grandpa.

I knelt beside him, embracing him carefully. He felt frilier than at Thanksgiving, his once powerful frame diminished. But his grip, when he squeezed my hand, remained surprisingly strong.

My girl, he said softly. The only one who bothers to hug me properly instead of hovering awkwardly like I might shatter. Never been much for hovering, I replied, which made him chuckle.

That’s why you’re my favorite, though don’t tell the others. He winked, then grew more serious. There’s much to discuss this weekend, Amber.

But first, dinner. I requested your favorite. Dinner was served in the formal dining room, a cavernous space featuring an antique table that could seat thirty.

Tonight, only twelve places were set, creating intimate groupings along the polished mahogany expanse. I found myself seated between Cousin Patrick, harmlessly dull with his endless talk of golf handicaps, and Aunt Judith, who at least asked genuine questions about my work and life. Across from me, my parents flanked Harper, creating a power trio that dominated conversation.

Wilson Financial just acquired Denning Systems, my father announced proudly. Harper led the negotiations. Brilliant work.

Absolutely brilliant. It was nothing. Harper demurred with practiced modesty.

Just applied what you taught me, Daddy. Nothing. My mother touched her pearls dramatically.

She saved us five million on the deal. The board was stunned. Speaking of the board, my father continued, they’re voting next month on creating a new executive position.

Chief Strategy Officer. Harper’s the obvious choice. The conversation continued in this vein throughout the first three courses, a carefully orchestrated performance designed to highlight Harper’s business acumen and our parents’ pride.

Occasionally, someone would remember my existence and lob a polite question my way. And how is your drawing going, Amber? My mother asked as dessert was served. I’m an architect, Mom…