Everyone Worshiped My Brother as a Tech Prodigy, but One Morning My Father Found Out I Had Already Reported His Stolen Work

Dylan’s phone rang. He stared at the caller ID, and whatever blood remained in his face vanished.

“IBM,” he said.

Victoria took one step back from him.

My mother shook her head, as if denial could rearrange reality if she moved fast enough.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no. This is a misunderstanding.”