My Parents Texted Me, “Don’t Come To Our Wedding Anniversary Party. Only ‘Proper’ Guests Will Be There.” So I Stayed Alone In My Apartment And Let Them Have Their Picture-Perfect Night Without Me. But That Same Day, My Sister Called, Voice Shaking, And Blurted, “Why Did You Hide This From The Family? Mom And Dad Just Saw The News And…”

“Yes,” she said. “The valuation tool you’ve been working on. We have to show them we’re ahead. You signed the NDA. Everything related to the business belongs to us.”

I felt the air leave the room.

“This isn’t Whitaker work,” I said. “This is my project.”

She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“You consulted for us. You used our time, our resources. It’s a conflict of interest if you keep it separate. Mom agrees. We need it now.”

I told her no.

The next day, Mom called. Her voice was ice.

“Alexis, your sister is right. You signed an agreement. You have a legal obligation to the family business. Don’t make this difficult.”

I explained again. The NDA covered Whitaker proprietary information. It didn’t cover my independent work. I had built this before I ever consulted.

Mom cut me off.

“Don’t play lawyer with me. Family doesn’t sue family. Give Caitlyn the code and we can move forward.”

I said no again.

Caitlyn showed up at my apartment two days later. She didn’t knock. She used the key Mom still had from when I was in college. She walked in heels, clicking on the tile, and sat on the couch like she owned the place.

“We need the full system,” she repeated. “Not summaries, not outputs—the code, the models, everything.”

I stood by the kitchen counter.

“No.”

Her face hardened.

“You’re being selfish. The firm is struggling. Clients are leaving. Investors want to see innovation. If we don’t deliver, we lose everything. Dad built this. Do you want that on your conscience?”

I looked at her.

“This is my work.”

She leaned forward.

“It’s family work now. You signed the NDA. If you don’t hand it over, we’ll have to take legal action—conflict of interest, breach of duty. You know how this looks.”

The threat hung there. Legal action from my own sister.

I pressed record on my phone in my pocket. Connecticut is a one-party consent state.

She kept talking.

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