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Brother Called Me 'Financial Idiot' At His Wedding - I Control His Company's Board

I'd learned to tune out Marcus's voice years ago. It was a survival skill, really—like learning to sleep through a neighbor's barking dog. Tonight, at his ridiculously expensive wedding reception, I was getting plenty of practice.
"Sarah's great with kids, terrible with numbers," he announced to a cluster of his Goldman Sachs colleagues near the bar. His voice carried across the ballroom with that particular confidence that comes from three whiskeys and a captive audience. "Always has been. Creative type, you know? Can't balance a checkbook to save her life."I sipped my champagne and adjusted the strap on my bridesmaid dress—the unflattering coral one his fiancée Emma had chosen specifically because it washed me out. Small victories for her, I supposed.Marcus had always been the golden child. Wharton MBA at 26. Vice President at 29. Now, at 33, he was marrying Emma Whitmore, whose father sat on half the boards in Manhattan. The wedding cost more than most people's houses—$400,000, according to Emma's loud complaints about "keeping it intimate."

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