I never told my parents I was a federal judge. To them, I was still the “dropout failure,” while my sister was the golden child. Then she took my car and committed a hit-and-run. My mother grabbed my shoulders, screaming, “You have no future anyway! Say you were driving!” I stayed calm and asked my sister quietly, “Did you cause the accident and flee?” She snapped back, “Yes, I did. Who would believe you? You look like a criminal.” That was enough. I pulled out my phone. “Open the court,” I said. “I have the evidence.”

“Pass the pepper, Cassandra,” Vivian said without looking up. “And try not to drop it this time. I know coordination has never been your strong suit, just like ambition.”

Cassandra handed the pepper mill calmly. Her hands did not shake. They never shook, not even in courtrooms where men twice her size broke into tears under her rulings. No one at this table knew that. They believed she worked as a junior assistant at a small legal aid office. They believed she had failed out of law school years ago. They believed she was ordinary. They believed what was convenient.

Brittany smirked as she cut into her steak. “You know, Cass, my firm is sending me to Chicago next month. New campaign, new clients, new press coverage. You should come visit sometime. Maybe see what a real career looks like.”

Lawrence nodded approvingly. “Your sister understands progress. You, Cassandra, seem content filing paperwork for charity cases. It is not exactly a legacy worthy of this family.”