The letter arrived on a Tuesday. Callum set down his coffee as I read the opening line aloud: my father’s attorney needed my signature to preserve his ownership interest in Thornfield Holdings. I almost laughed. For three years, my family had called me unstable, bitter, and jealous of my sister, Rosalind. Whenever she insulted me and then cried, somehow I became the problem. They skipped my law school graduation for her difficult week, dismissed my achievements, and even told me that marrying Callum proved I had settled.

What they didn’t know was that my grandfather had trusted me with the succession documents during my final year of law school. I was the only one in the family who actually read contracts before signing them. Page three of the trust contained one crucial condition: the ownership interest could only be transferred with the unanimous written consent of every lineal descendant. My father had already accepted a deposit on the sale. There was just one signature he still needed—mine.