“Why?” I kept my voice level. Years of corporate boardrooms had trained me well. I looked at Ebony. She was inspecting her manicure, hiding a smile.

“Because Ebony and Brad need your room,” my mother said. “They lost their apartment downtown. It was a misunderstanding with the landlord. Totally unfair. They need space. Your room has the best natural light. Brad needs it for his investment live streams. It’s good feng shui.”

Brad nodded, taking a sip of the Cabernet Sauvignon I had selected.

“Exactly, Tiana,” he said. “Look, no offense, but you’re just an administrative assistant. You go to work, you come home, you sleep. You don’t need a master suite with south‑facing windows.” He gestured toward the hallway. “I’m building an empire here. I need a dedicated office to connect with my followers. The lighting in the guest room is trash. Plus, you’re single. You can rent a studio anywhere. It’s time you stopped being selfish and helped your family grow.”

“Selfish.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and toxic.

I glanced around the dining room. At the chandelier I’d paid to install. At the hardwood floors I’d paid to refinish. At the food they were shoveling into their mouths, paid for by the card in my wallet.

In my line of work, I didn’t cry. You can’t cry when a company is failing. You look at the balance sheet.

And my family was a failing company.