Part 1A Two Hundred Million Dollar Mistake

At 2:00 PM, my stepmother texted me asking for my laptop password.

I was in a meeting and didn’t reply.

At 3:00 PM, another message popped up: “I found someone to factory reset it since you didn't answer. Everything’s gone now, just so you know.”

I dropped my phone, grabbed my keys, and blew through three red lights to get home.

When I burst into the living room, my laptop was sitting on the coffee table. The screen was glowing. I lunged for it, my fingers trembling as I clicked through the folders.

Empty. Every single one of them.

A white-hot rage flared in my chest. “This is my computer! Who gave you the right to wipe it?”

Pamela was lounging on the sofa, scrolling through her phone. She didn’t even bother to look up. “I needed to use it for something. You didn’t answer, so I had it cleared. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? Do you have any idea what was on here? All the photos of my mother, and—”

Slap!

The force of the blow jerked my head to the side. My vision blurred for a second.

My father stood over me, his eyes wide with fury. “Your mother has been dead for twenty years! Why do you keep bringing her up to spite Pamela? Show some respect and stop being so dramatic!”

I held my burning cheek, staring at them. Pamela looked bored; my father looked disgusted.

Then, I started to laugh. It was a cold, jagged sound.

This laptop didn’t just hold the only digital copies of my mother’s life. It held the entire architecture for my father’s latest venture.

A two-hundred-million-dollar acquisition. No backups.

…

* * *

I turned to leave.

“Stay right there,” my father’s voice barked from behind me. I didn't stop. “I said get back here! What is wrong with your attitude?”

I halted, taking a slow, shaky breath.

He pointed a finger at Pamela. “Your mother just wanted to borrow your laptop. Who do you think you’re looking down on?”

Pamela leaned back into the cushions, her eyes suddenly brimming with well-practiced tears. Her voice went soft and fragile. “Robert, forget it. It’s my fault. I just wanted to handle a few files, and I got impatient when she didn't reply... I shouldn't have had it wiped.”

She let a single tear fall.

My father’s face hardened. He marched over and stood inches from me. “Your mother is talking to you. Are you deaf?”

“She isn’t my mother,” I said, my voice steady.

Slap!

The second one hit the same cheek. I let my head hang.

“Listen to me,” he hissed, his finger nearly touching my nose. “Pamela didn't do anything wrong. You did. Now, apologize to her. If you don't, don't bother coming back to this house ever again.”

I looked up at him.

I had called this man "Dad" for twenty-seven years. When my mother died when I was five, I knelt at her casket and cried until I was sick. Less than three months later, he brought this woman home. She was already pregnant with Tyler.

As soon as my mother was gone, my grandfather—overcome with grief—followed her six months later. My father wasted no time. He rebranded the Miller Group into Wainwright & Co.

The man who had married into the family, who had started with nothing but my mother's grace, had suddenly become the king of the castle.

For twenty-seven years, I asked for nothing.

When I graduated, he told me to start at the bottom. I did.

Tyler was made Executive Vice President immediately. I said nothing.

Pamela squeezed me out of every family event, every holiday. I endured it.

I lived in a cramped apartment across town just to breathe clean air. But the things on that laptop...

“Dad,” I said, looking him in the eye. “My mother might be dead, but she was the woman who built you. She gave you everything. All I had left of her were those photos. Does that mean nothing to you?”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Pamela chimed in from the sofa. “They’re just pictures, honey. They can’t be that important.”

“Everything is gone,” I said to her. “Did you even think to ask before you killed the drive?”

Pamela looked away, playing the victim again.

My father’s face went through a range of emotions before settling back on anger. “It’s a few photos! Get over yourself and apologize!”

I smiled at him, savoring the words I was about to say.

“Dad, that laptop also held every contract for the acquisition. The two-hundred-million-dollar deal? It was all in there.”

He froze. Then, he let out a mocking laugh.

“The contracts were on your laptop? You think I’m an idiot?” He pointed to a framed photo of the three of them—him, Pamela, and Tyler. “I gave that project to Tyler. He’s the lead. He has the contracts. Why are you lying?”

Pamela sniffled. “Robert, don’t listen to her...”

“Why don’t you call him and ask if he has them?” I challenged.

“Fine! I’ll show you just how pathetic your lies are.” My father pulled out his phone and dialed Tyler.

Twice, it went to voicemail.

“He’s probably busy with the closing,” Pamela whispered.

Just then, the front door swung open. Tyler walked in, swinging his Porsche keys, looking annoyed. “Dad, why have you been blowing up my phone? I just parked.”