Laptop. Documents. My biological mother’s jewelry. My NextGen badge.
Everything that mattered fit inside my car. Then I went downstairs.
Forty-five guests filled the house. Seattle business people, investors, neighbors. Men who wanted my father’s approval and women who whispered through champagne smiles.
Marcus made a toast to Bradley as the future of Young Construction.
Someone asked, “What about Stephanie?”
My father laughed. “Oh, Stephanie helps with basic IT support. Reliable in her small way.”
That was when Veronica called me forward. She announced to the room that I had agreed to transfer my shares to Bradley.
I said, “I haven’t agreed to anything.”
The room went completely quiet. Marcus’s face turned red.
“You demanded it,” I said. “There’s a difference.”
Veronica hissed that I was embarrassing the family.
I turned to the guests and told the room exactly what those shares were, what Bradley had actually done, and how much of that household I had been funding.
Marcus stood up so fast his chair scraped aggressively against the floor.
“Stephanie Young,” he barked, loud enough for every guest to hear, “you are grounded until you apologize to your stepmother.”
For one second, nobody moved. Then someone laughed. A nervous laugh. Then another.
“Did he just ground a twenty-eight-year-old woman?” someone whispered.
Marcus doubled down. “You’re confined to this house until you show proper respect.”
I looked at my father. Then at the guests. Then at Veronica, who still thought humiliation was a weapon only she could hold.
“All right,” I said. “I’m grounded.”
I set down my glass. “And since I’m grounded, I should go to my room.”