control of our father’s company was about to discover that her future wasn’t nearly as secure as she thought.
My name is Emily Bellamy, and I’d spent most of my life being the daughter nobody considered particularly impressive.
My younger sister Vanessa was the family favorite.
She was beautiful, outgoing, ambitious, and extraordinarily skilled at convincing people she was more capable than everyone around her.
Dad adored her.
Whenever she entered a room, his face lit up.
When she announced a new business idea, he praised her intelligence.
And when she made an expensive mistake, he found someone else to blame.
I was different.
Quiet.
Practical.
More comfortable reviewing financial records than entertaining a room full of strangers.
Dad called me his responsible daughter.
But somehow, that description always sounded less like praise and more like an explanation for why I wasn’t worth celebrating.
Vanessa took full advantage of it.
