«You’re not allowed at our vacation home,» Mom texted. A week later, they got a notice: the resort had a new owner. Their access cards stopped working…

He sends his regards to you, mom, said he’ll be pleased with the heated floors we installed in Villa Serenity’s master bath. You’ve apparently been mentioning the cold tiles for years. My father’s mouth opened and closed without sound.

Jason let out a nervous laugh that died quickly when no one joined him. This is a joke, Amanda said flatly. It has to be.

I turned to Thomas. Please show the Johnson family to Villa Serenity. Their usual accommodation has been prepared on the house, of course.

The walk to the villa was excruciating. My mother marched ahead with rigid posture while my father kept glancing at me with an unreadable expression. Jason peppered me with questions about the purchase price and financing structure.

His investment banker brain unable to process the situation any other way. Amanda refused to look at me at all, while her husband Gregory suddenly seemed fascinated by the resort landscaping. Only my niece and nephew acted normally, skipping alongside me and asking if I own the swimming pool, too, and could they stay up late since their aunt was the boss.

When we reached Villa Serenity, I unlocked the door with my master key and stepped aside. My mother entered first, her sharp intake of breath audible as she registered the changes to her familiar domain. What have you done, she whispered, moving from room to room.

Where is my vase? Where are our family photos? I’ve updated the decor, I said simply. The resort needed a refresh. You’ve erased us, she accused, her voice rising.

20 years of family history. Funny, I replied, unable to keep the edge from my voice. That’s exactly what you did to me when you uninvited me from this trip.

My father intervened, ever the peacekeeper. Let’s all calm down. Harper, while this is certainly unexpected, perhaps we can discuss this civilly over dinner.

Dinner was set for seven at the resort’s main restaurant, now featuring a new menu I’d developed with the chef. My family arrived together, having apparently spent the intervening hours in shocked discussion without me. They fell silent as I approached their table.

I’d changed into a sleek black dress, nothing flashy, but unmistakably expensive, the kind of quiet luxury my mother had always tried to achieve. I took the liberty of ordering my father’s favorite wine, I said, gesturing to the decanted bottle. 1996 Chateau Margot.

Happy birthday, dad. Harper, my mother began immediately, this has gone far enough. Whatever point you’re trying to make.

Karen, my father cut her off, surprising everyone. He turned to me. Harper, how did you manage this? The resort must have cost.

18 million I supplied, though I negotiated favorable terms. Gregory choked on his water. Even in his medical practice, he’d never handled numbers that large.

But your company sold for 40, and after taxes and paying your team, Jason’s financial brain was working overtime. This represents most of my liquid assets, I acknowledged, but it’s a sound investment. Bluewater Cove has untapped potential, especially in extending the season with corporate retreats and destination weddings.

You spend your entire fortune on a temper tantrum, my mother said, because we asked for one family vacation without drama. The table fell silent again. The server brought our appetizers, locally sourced seafood presented with an artistry the resort’s previous menu had never achieved…