My father called me a failure at Christmas dinner, but he had no idea I owned my brother-in-law’s building

At 10:15 a.m., my personal mobile phone began to ring.

I glanced at the caller ID: *Claire.*

I let it ring three times, took another sip of my tea, and swiped the screen.

“Good morning, Claire.”

“Emily!” Claire’s voice was high-pitched, frantic, bordering on hysterical. “Where are you? Are you at that workshop place?”

“I’m at my office, yes. Is everything alright? You sound breathless.”

“Everything is *not* alright!” Claire cried. I could hear the background noise of her luxury SUV—the turn signal clicking, the sound of windshield wipers slapping against wet glass. “Grant had some kind of panic attack at work. He collapsed in his office! His assistant had to call an ambulance, but he refused to go to the hospital. He’s home right now, tearing through his files like a lunatic, mumbling about you!”

“About me?” I asked, keeping my voice smooth as silk. “Why on earth would Grant be mumbling about me on a Monday morning?”

“I don’t know!” Claire snapped, her frustration boiling over. “He keeps saying you pulled some kind of sick prank. Did you send something to his office? Did you report him to the city or something out of spite because of what Dad said at dinner?”

I smiled faintly, looking through my office window at our master craftsman, an eighty-year-old Italian immigrant named Marco, who was currently inspecting a fresh shipment of solid brass hardware from Florence.

“I didn't report him to anyone, Claire. I don't engage in petty spite.”

“Then why is he saying you’re trying to ruin him?” Claire demanded, her voice cracking with indignation. “He said you sent him a fake eviction notice! He’s threatening to sue you for harassment! Emily, you need to stop this right now. If Dad finds out you’re messing with Grant’s business during a critical restructuring week, he will disown you completely. Do you hear me? He will cut you out of the family forever!”

“Claire,” I said, my tone deadpan and quiet. “Has Grant shown you the letter from the mantelpiece yet?”

There was a sudden, jarring pause on the other end of the line. The sound of the car engine seemed to hum through the phone.

“The... the envelope you left?” Claire asked, her tone shifting slightly, uncertain. “He threw it in the trash when we got home on Christmas Eve. He said it was just amateur garbage.”

“No, he didn't throw it away,” I said softly. “He brought it to work with him this morning. Tell him to look at Exhibit B attached to the Hamilton County municipal docket. It has my corporate seal on it.”

“What corporate seal? Emily, what the hell are you talking about? You make purses!”

“I make fine leather goods, Claire. And real estate acquisitions. There’s a distinction.”

“You... you bought something?” Claire let out a nervous, breathless laugh, trying to dismiss the icy knot tightening in her gut. “With what money? You don't have money! Dad knows your bank account is basically empty!”

“Dad hasn't seen my bank account since I was nineteen years old,” I said evenly. “And Claire? Tell Grant that if he wants to discuss the terms of his commercial lease, he shouldn't send his wife to yell at me over a cell phone. Tell him to request a formal meeting with the managing member of Aegis Harrison Holdings. My executive assistant has an opening this afternoon at three o'clock.”

“You’re insane,” Claire hissed, though her voice lacked its earlier conviction; it trembled with an undercurrent of raw dread. “You’ve completely lost your mind.”

“Three o'clock, Claire. If he isn’t at the boardroom table at 214 Harrison Street with a certified check for five hundred and ten thousand dollars, the locks will be changed on Friday. Have a lovely morning.”

I ended the call before she could reply.

I set the phone face down on the desk. Across the room, my vice president of operations, Sarah Lin, walked in carrying a stack of leather swatches for our fall collection. She looked at me, raising an eyebrow.

“Family?” Sarah asked sympathetically.

“Family,” I confirmed.

“Do you need to clear your afternoon schedule?”