The hour I learned my parents had signed the family company over to my sister, I stopped working eighty-hour weeks for free. Twelve years of pre-dawn site walks and midnight spreadsheets, of concrete pours timed to beat Texas heat and bids sharpened down to the last cent, and I watched a pen carve my future out of the will. My father’s signet ring flashed under the office lights; my mother rested a proud hand on Paula’s shoulder. “She has vision. She’s better with people,” he said. My reward for