I never let my parents know that Grandma had left me ten million dollars. In their version of our family, I was the afterthought—the quiet daughter fading behind my perfect sister, Raven. She was the honor-roll star, the team captain, the one they displayed with pride. I was the background figure, the child who learned how to clap for herself in empty rooms.

That afternoon, the first true confrontation happened.

Not in my room.

In the hallway.

Ms. Sanchez didn’t tell me the details until later, but I heard enough through the door to know the temperature of it.

My father’s voice—controlled at first, then rising.

My mother’s voice—soft and pleading, then sharp.

A staff member responding with firm professionalism.

Then security.

And finally, the door opening just enough for Ms. Laird to slip in.

She closed it behind her and sat down as if she’d just left a meeting, not a fight.

“They’re here,” she said quietly.

My pulse surged. My eyes widened.

“They’re demanding to see you,” she continued. “They’re demanding to be heard.”

Two blinks came before she even finished.

No.

Ms. Laird nodded once. “Okay.”

She paused, measuring her next words.

“They’re using Raven,” she said.