Part 2: At My Sister’s Wedding, My Name Wasn’t on the Guest List and I Was Sent to Eat in the Kitchen—So I Walked Out Quietly, Removed My Father’s Company From My Firm’s Priority List, and Minutes Later the Bride Screamed, “What Did You Do?”...

By 8:00 AM on Monday, the Chicago financial district was bustling with its usual post-weekend energy. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of roasted coffee beans from the Italian deli down the street as I walked through the double glass doors of Asterline’s headquarters on Wacker Drive.

My executive assistant, Brenda—a sharp-witted forty-year-old former corporate litigator who knew everything about everyone—was already waiting at my desk with an iPad and a double-shot espresso.

"Good morning, Rowan," Brenda said, falling into step beside me as I strode toward my corner office. "You look rested. Unlike your father."

I tossed my coat onto the rack. "Did he try to come in?"

"At 7:30 AM," Brenda beamed with undisguised delight. "He brought two of his senior vice presidents, complete with glossy project blueprints and a cashier’s check for fifty thousand dollars as a 'good faith deposit.' Security intercepted them at the lobby turnstiles."

"Did you let him up?"

"Of course not. I told him via intercom that Asterline’s executive suite operates strictly by appointment, and our earliest available consultation slot for non-preferred accounts is currently slated for late November."

I smiled, sitting down at my desk and taking a sip of the espresso. "Did he throw a tantrum?"

"He turned the color of a bruised plum, threatened to sue us for restraint of trade, and then tried to corner our head of legal near the elevators," Brenda said, tapping her iPad. "Naturally, our legal counsel reminded him that Asterline is a private vendor with no legal obligation to service delinquent or uncontracted accounts. He eventually stormed out, yelling something about familial betrayal and ungrateful children."

"Family betrayal," I murmured, shaking my head. "That’s rich coming from a man who wouldn't even buy his daughter a twenty-dollar dinner plate."

The intercom on my desk blinked.

"Rowan," Marcus’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Line two. It’s Derek. He’s calling from his personal cell, sounding like he’s about to throw up."

"Put him through."

I pressed the flashing button and picked up the handset.

"Derek."

"Rowan? Ro, thank God you picked up," my younger brother’s voice stammered, sounding breathless and panicked. "Look, I know things got crazy at the wedding—"

"Get to the point, Derek. I have a board meeting in twenty minutes."

"Dad is losing his mind," Derek blurted out. "The bank called an hour ago. Because of the CTA project delay notices and the sudden freeze on our primary supplier credit lines, our revolving credit facility has been placed under review. The whole company is locking up. Dad’s assistant said we might not even be able to make payroll on Friday."

I leaned back in my leather chair, spinning my pen between my fingers. "That sounds stressful, Derek. Have you considered cutting back on luxury expenses? Maybe sell the BMW Dad bought you for graduation?"

There was a long, suffocating silence on the line.

"Ro... you don't understand," Derek whispered, his voice cracking. "Dad’s investors are threatening to pull out. They thought Asterline was locked in as our exclusive technological guarantor. When they found out we’ve been downgraded to standard queue... they think we’re going bankrupt."

"Well," I said calmly, "perceptions are everything in the architectural world, aren't they? That’s what Dad always taught us. Image matters more than substance."

"Rowan, please! Can’t you just use your executive privilege or whatever to reinstate the contract? Just for Dad’s sake? He’s your father!"

"He made that very clear on Saturday night when he told me my proper place was washing dishes in the kitchen," I replied, my voice hardening. "Tell him that if he wants to talk business, he can submit a formal proposal through our portal like every other third-party vendor. And tell Camille I said congratulations on the wedding."

I didn't wait for him to answer. I hung up the phone, disconnected the line, and looked up at Brenda, who was standing by the door with a stack of quarterly reports.