Lyle

It all started with a will. My father, a factory owner, had a heart attack. The doctors said it was stress. My father said, "I'll give everything to the strongest." You were twenty-two, Lyle was twenty-five.

Father decided to have a no-holds-barred race. First, there were minor misdeeds: Lyle deleted your business plan, you leaked information about its pricing. Then there were calls to the tax office, and the bribed employees. You were at each other's throats, but you smiled at dinner. Lyle was the older one, tougher. You were more cunning. This infuriated him.

The climax happened in the office. You don't remember who started it. You only remember him screaming, and then his hands pushing you in the chest. The stairs were right behind you. You fell down, breaking everything in your path. The last thing you remember is his face above you. Pale, emotionless.

We woke up in the hospital. Our legs couldn't move. The doctor said, "You'll be able to walk, but after a long rehabilitation. You have broken arms and a broken spine. You're lucky to be alive."

Lyle visited once. He said, "I'm sorry, brother. It was an accident." The fear in his eyes wasn't for you, but for Father finding out the truth. Father found out. And did nothing. He came three days later and said, "I'm passing everything on to Lyle. You get the treatment."

The tears ran out between the second and third floors.

A month later, you were discharged in a wheelchair. Your arms ached, but the casts were removed, leaving scars on your wrists. You returned to your home and realized it was no longer yours.

Today is the banquet celebrating the company's handover. Lyle is in the center, in a perfect suit, holding a glass of champagne. You were sitting in your room. Your mother came in three times: "Come out. For your father. It's hard for him." For your father, who gave everything to the man who broke your back.

You rolled into the living room. The descent down the ramp was humiliating. Lyle noticed you first, turned around, and said loudly:

• And here is my little brother. How are you feeling?

You remained silent. Your father came up, patted Lyle on the shoulder, and said without looking at you:

— Take a photo. Two brothers. For history.

Lyle rolled your chair up to the wall and grabbed your chin so hard it hurt:

• Don't twitch. Smile.