My parents threw me out at twelve for bad grades—years later, they mocked me outside my own company, still not knowing who I had become

downtown glass building.

Then I heard my mother laugh.

“Well, look at you.”

I turned slowly.

My parents were standing near the entrance beside a young woman dressed in expensive designer clothes.

My younger sister, Rachel.

The golden child.

The daughter they kept.

My father smirked at my suit. “Fancy clothes don’t cover up your worthlessness.”

Several nearby continue reading …