Part 2: My parents called me the family's biggest disappointment before my sister sprayed me with a water hose, completely unaware that I owned the luxurious venue they stood in.

"Time's up," I announced.

Before the last syllable faded from my lips, the massive wrought-iron gates of the estate swung open with a resounding clatter. Two black utility vans pulled onto the cobblestone driveway, followed immediately by three marked patrol cars from the Westchester County Sheriff’s Department.

Uniformed officers stepped out, their boots crunching deliberately against the loose gravel. Flanking them were twelve burly men wearing crisp black suits with private security badges pinned to their lapels.

Eleanor Sterling let out a high-pitched wail and collapsed onto an ornamental bench, clutching her chest. "Richard, do something! Call the mayor! Call the commissioner! They can't do this to the Sterlings!"

"The mayor owes Carter Holdings two billion dollars in municipal bond guarantees, Eleanor," I said coldly. "He won't even pick up your call."

The head of my security detail, Marcus Vance—a former federal agent—strode forward and handed me an electronic tablet.

"Everything is documented, Ms. Carter," Marcus said in a crisp, professional tone. "High-definition security footage of the physical assault, the deliberate destruction of the estate's private antique stone urns, and the trespassing onto restricted service quarters."

I turned my gaze to the sheriff’s deputy leading the squad. "Deputy Kowalski."

"Good afternoon, Ms. Carter," the officer said respectfully. "We received your report regarding aggravated assault and malicious destruction of private commercial property exceeding one hundred thousand dollars."

Vanessa went completely rigid. "Assault? What assault?! It was water! It was just water!"

"Water from an industrial pressurized line aimed at a human being at point-blank range constitutes assault with a deadly weapon under state penal code, Miss Sterling," Deputy Kowalski replied without an ounce of warmth. "And the water flooded the basement archives directly below the terrace, destroying priceless 18th-century French tapestries. That constitutes felony criminal mischief."

"No... no, no, no!" Vanessa shrieked, backing away toward the altar, her ruined dress snagging on the wooden chairs. "Mom! Dad! Don't let them touch me!"

Richard Sterling rushed toward the deputy, waving his hands frantically. "Officer, wait! This is a family dispute! Samantha is my daughter! She’s doing this out of spite because of childhood jealousy! Samantha, tell them to stand down! I order you as your father to stand down!"

I looked Richard dead in the eye, and for the first time in my life, I felt absolutely nothing toward him. No anger. No longing for his approval. No lingering childhood pain. Just empty space.

"You ceased being my father twelve years ago, Richard," I said, my voice echoing across the courtyard so clearly that every guest caught every word. "You stopped being my father when you emptied the college trust fund my grandmother left exclusively for me, and used it to buy Vanessa her debutante ball in Paris. You stopped being my father when you left me in an unfurnished studio apartment during my freshman year while you bought Vanessa a brand-new Mercedes for passing her high school exams."

A murmur of disgust rippled through the gathered crowd. Several of Eleanor's closest socialite friends began exchanging horrified looks, shielding their faces from the humiliation of being associated with them.

"You told everyone I was a dropout who ran away with lowlifes," I continued, taking a slow step toward my parents. "The truth is, I worked three jobs while completing my finance degree at Columbia. I slept four hours a night on a subway floor while you were dining at Le Cirque on stolen money. I built Carter Holdings stone by stone, dollar by dollar, without a single cent from the Sterling name."

"Samantha, please," Eleanor sobbed, crawling toward me across the flagstones, her designer makeup running down her wrinkled face in black streaks. "I'm your mother! Blood is thicker than water! You can't put your own sister in prison! Think of our reputation!"

"You didn't care about blood when Vanessa turned that hose on me," I replied, pulling my hem away from her trembling hands. "Deputy, do your job. And Marcus?"