My brother’s voice carried all the way to the far corner of the conference room, even over the hum of the HVAC and the city traffic thirty floors below.
“Relax, Elena,” Julian said loudly, his chair creaking as he leaned back at the head of the mahogany table like he’d been sitting there his whole life. “Once I’m officially partner, maybe I’ll promote you from water girl to actual assistant. Somebody’s got to keep the coffee hot.”
The men in suits around him laughed the way people laugh when money is in the room.
Quick, eager, just a little too loud.
My mother’s brittle chuckle cut through all of it.
“She should be grateful,” Philippa said, not bothering to lower her voice. “Standing in the corner is the closest she’ll ever get to a seat at this table.”
I shifted the weight of the glass pitcher in my hands.
Condensation slid over my fingers and dripped in a neat line onto the linen-draped sideboard. From my spot against the wall, I could see everyone clearly: Arthur, my father, sitting ramrod straight in a suit he couldn’t quite afford anymore; Julian at the head, grinning like this entire downtown Chicago office belonged to him; my mother perched at his right elbow like a proud campaign manager.
I checked the slim watch hidden under the cuff of my blazer.
Four minutes.
Four minutes until the mysterious senior partner they’d been hyping up for weeks was scheduled to walk through the glass door.
Four minutes until the deal my father thought would save him from financial ruin.
Four minutes until Julian believed he would finally be crowned king of someone else’s empire.
Four minutes until I fired him from the company I already owned.
Arthur caught me looking at my watch and scowled.
“Stand still, Elena,” he snapped. “You fidget like that and you’ll spill something. God knows we’ve lost enough money cleaning up your mistakes.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and kept my gaze on the crystal water glasses lined up like soldiers on the tray.
I’d spent most of my life in the corner of someone else’s room.
Today was the last day.
—
The thing about growing up with a man like Arthur Vance is that you learn the language of money long before you learn how to ride a bike.
He didn’t talk about us like children.
He talked about us like positions in a portfolio.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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