The room froze as recognition dawned on my brother’s face, horror replacing arrogance as his perfect, curated image crumbled. They had tried to write me out of the family story. Now, I would show them that the sister they discarded had become the judge they couldn’t ignore.

The heavy cream envelope sat on my desk like an unexploded bomb. My clerk, Diane, had placed it there with my morning mail, probably assuming it was just another formal invitation. But I recognized the ornate Marshall family crest embossed in gold on the back flap immediately. Five years of silence, and now this.