Sister Called Me ‘The Selfish One’ – I’m Her Anonymous $95M Investor

The Truth Comes to Light

By noon, Sarah’s company had received the official notice. By 2:00 p.m., emergency board meetings were being called. By 5:00 p.m., my phone started ringing.

I didn’t answer. The first voicemail was from Sarah, her voice tight with panic. “Maya, something insane is happening with the company. Our primary investor is pulling out. 95 million, just gone. They’re not giving us any reason. Have you heard anything through your… whatever contacts you have? Call me back.”

I deleted it. The second voicemail came an hour later, more frantic. “Maya, I need you to call me. This is serious. The board is in chaos. Our CFO says we have maybe two months of runway without this funding. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

I deleted it as well. By Wednesday, the word had spread through the family. My phone was flooded with messages.

“Sarah needs our support right now. Where are you?” Mom’s text said. Dad wrote: “Your sister is going through a crisis. Family comes first, Maya.” Aunt Linda messaged: “Now is the time to step up and help Sarah. Show her you care.”

The irony was almost beautiful. On Thursday, Sarah showed up at my apartment. I watched through the doorbell camera as she knocked, waited, and knocked again.

She looked exhausted. Her expensive clothes were rumpled, her usually perfect hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. “Maya, I know you’re in there,” she pleaded. “Please, I need to talk to someone. And you’re… you’re the only one who might understand business stuff. Please.”

I turned off the camera and went back to my laptop. The family emergency dinner was called for Friday night. “Mandatory attendance,” Mom’s text said. “We need to figure out how to help Sarah save her company.”

I arrived exactly on time. The dining room was packed with the same people who’d been there the previous Sunday, but the energy was completely different. There were worried faces and hushed conversations.

Sarah sat at the head of the table, looking shell-shocked. “Thank you all for coming,” Mom began. “As you know, Sarah’s company is facing an unexpected crisis. Her main investor has withdrawn their funding for reasons we don’t understand. We’re family, and we need to come together to help her through this.”

Dad nodded gravely. “We’re putting together a family investment pool. We’re asking everyone to contribute what they can to help bridge this gap until Sarah can secure new funding.”

I took a sip of water and waited. “I can put in 15,000,” Uncle Mike offered. “We can do 20,” Aunt Linda said, glancing at her husband.

Around the table, people pledged amounts: 5,000, 10,000, 8,000. These were the same people who couldn’t contribute $200 monthly for Grandma’s care, yet they were suddenly finding money to save Sarah’s company. The pledges added up to $180,000—a drop in the ocean compared to what was actually needed.

Sarah’s voice was hoarse. “That’s… that’s incredibly generous. Thank you. But we need millions, not thousands. Without the primary investor, we’re looking at potential bankruptcy by August.”

Mom’s eyes turned to me. “Maya, you’ve been very quiet. What can you contribute?”

Every eye in the room locked onto me. I set down my water glass carefully. “I don’t think I can help.”

Sarah’s face flushed. “Are you serious right now? The one time—the one time I asked this family for help—and you can’t be bothered?”

“I didn’t hear you ask,” I said calmly. “I heard Mom ask on your behalf.”

“This is exactly what I was talking about last week!” Sarah stood up, her voice rising. “You’re selfish, Maya! Completely selfish! I have poured everything into building something meaningful, something that employs 43 people, and you won’t even help save it!”

“How much do you need?” I asked quietly.

Sarah blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What?” “To save the company. How much money do you actually need?”

Her CFO had clearly given her numbers. “We need approximately 95 million to maintain our current operations and growth trajectory. But obviously, we’re not asking the family for that. We’ll restructure, downsize, try to find new investors.”

“95 million,” I repeated. “That’s very specific.”

“That’s what our primary investor had committed. It was the foundation of our entire financial structure.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Four years of work, Maya. Four years of 16-hour days and sacrificing everything. You wouldn’t understand.”

I nodded slowly, then I pulled out my phone. “What are you doing?” Mom asked.

I opened my email and pulled up the message thread with my investment attorney. I scrolled back four years, found the initial investment proposal and authorization, and turned the phone around so Sarah could see the screen.

She squinted at it, confused, then her eyes widened as she started reading. “This is… this is a document about Nex Tech Solutions,” her voice was barely a whisper. “From 2019. It’s an investment authorization for 95 million from…”

She looked up at me, her face pale. “Cascade Holdings LLC? That’s…”

“That’s my investment firm,” I said simply. “Well, one of them.”

The room had gone completely silent. Sarah’s hands were shaking as she held my phone. “You’re… You’ve been…?”

“For four years, I was the anonymous investor,” I confirmed. “I saved your company in 2019 when you were three months from bankruptcy. I installed the management team that actually built your product. I provided the capital structure that let you expand. Every success you’ve celebrated for the past four years was built on my money.”

Dad’s fork clattered onto his plate. Mom’s mouth opened and closed without sound. Sarah sank back into her chair, still staring at my phone.

“But why? Why would you? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t do it for credit,” I said. “I did it because despite everything, you’re still my sister. I didn’t want to watch you fail.”

“Then why pull out now?” Her voice was raw. “Why destroy everything?”

I looked around the table at all the faces that had judged me for years, all the people who’d watched Sarah mock me and had nodded along. “Last Sunday, you stood in this room and called me selfish in front of everyone. You said I never help anyone, never contribute, never sacrifice.”

I kept my voice level and calm. “And everyone agreed with you. Every single person here.”

Aunt Linda looked down at her plate. “What you didn’t know—what none of you knew—is that I’ve been paying for Grandma’s care facility in full since she moved in. All of it. The entire 18,500 monthly. Not the 1,200 I was assigned—the whole amount.”

Mom’s face went white. “Maya, we didn’t…”

“You didn’t know because I asked the facility not to tell anyone,” I interrupted. “The same way I asked the VC firm not to reveal my identity to Sarah. The same way I’ve kept quiet about a lot of things.”

I stood up. “I’ve spent years being the family disappointment while quietly supporting all of you. And you know what I realized last Sunday? It doesn’t matter what I actually do. You’ve decided who I am, and nothing will change that.”

“Maya, please don’t do this,” Sarah’s voice was barely audible. “The company… everyone who works there… they’ll lose their jobs.”

“You should have thought about them before you spent years treating me like I was worthless,” I said as I picked up my purse. “I gave you four years and 95 million. I gave this family more than you’ll ever know, and the thanks I got was being called selfish at a dinner table.”

“We can fix this,” Dad said, standing up. “Maya, we’re sorry. We didn’t understand.”

“No,” I interrupted. “You didn’t ask. That’s different.”

I walked toward the door. Sarah’s voice stopped me. “What about the company? What about the 43 people who depend on their jobs?”

I turned back. “I gave official notice 30 days ago. That’s more than most investors would provide. You have one month to find alternative funding, restructure, or wind down responsibly. I suggest you spend less time planning family dinners where you humiliate people and more time actually running your company.”

“You can’t just—” Sarah started.

“I can,” I said. “I’m the majority stakeholder. Or I was. The withdrawal will be complete in two weeks.”

I opened the door. *”For what it’s worth, Sarah, you do have talent. You could have built something real if you’d focused on the work instead of the appearance of success. But that would have required actual sacrifice, and I don’t think you know what that word means.”