I never told my in-laws’ family I owned a five-billion-dollar empire.

The crystal chandelier in the Roberts’ dining room was so polished it hurt to look at. Beneath its aggressive sparkle, the long oak table was set for twelve, laden with roasted duck, truffle mashed potatoes, and bottles of wine that cost more than most people’s monthly rent.

Elena sat at the far end of the table, near the kitchen door. It was the spot usually reserved for children or unwanted guests. She was neither, technically—she was the daughter-in-law—but she was certainly treated as the latter.

“Elena, don’t just sit there,” her mother-in-law, Brenda, snapped, pointing a manicured finger at an empty wine decanter. “Go get more Cabernet for Clara’s husband. The ’98 vintage. And be careful with it; that bottle is worth more than your car.”