Chapter 5 - The Family Summit
I agreed to meet my family on neutral ground: a private dining room at the Ritz-Carlton in downtown Boston.
When I walked into the room at 2:00 p.m. on Thursday, my entire family was already waiting.
Dad was pacing by the window. Mom was frantically dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Nicholas sat at the head of the dark oak table, looking like he hadn't slept in three days. His hair was messy, his eyes bloodshot, his designer suit rumpled.
When I walked in—wearing a sleek black jumpsuit, red heels, and holding a pristine leather handbag—they all froze.
“Jenna!” Mom gasped, leaping up to embrace me, but I held up a single hand, stopping her five feet away.
“Sit down, Mom,” I said calmly, taking a seat at the far end of the table. “We have thirty minutes.”
Dad slammed his hand onto the table. “Thirty minutes?! Jenna, do you have any idea what you’ve done to this family?! Your brother was fired this morning!”
“He wasn't fired because of me, Dad,” I said smoothly, unzipping my bag and pulling out a quiet, professional folder. “He was fired because Emmett Stewart’s legal team reviewed Nicholas’s corporate account management and found three separate instances of gross negligence and client misrepresentation.”
Nicholas went white as paper. “How... how did you know that?”
“Because I work for Stewart Global now,” I said flatly. “I’m the new Senior Vice President of Global Strategy. My team conducted the audit.”
The silence in the private room was so absolute you could hear the air conditioner hum.
Mom dropped her tissue. “Senior... Vice President?”
Dad’s jaw worked silently for a moment before he stammered, “B-but... you write blogs! You make a few thousand dollars a year!”
I pulled out a single sheet of paper from my folder and slid it across the mahogany table toward my father.
It was my certified tax return from the previous year.
Dad picked it up, squinting at the numbers. Then his eyes went wide. His hand began to shake violently.
“One point two... million?” Dad whispered, his voice cracking. “You made one point two million dollars last year?!”
Mom gasped, snatching the paper from his hand. “Oh my God... Arthur, look at this! Jenna... how? Where did this come from?!”
“It came from hard work,” I said, looking directly at Nicholas, who looked as if he were going to vomit. “It came from writing speeches for prime ministers, CEOs, and global foundations. I bought my Beacon Hill loft two years ago in cash. I invested in tech startups. I built a career while all three of you were busy laughing at me.”
Nicholas covered his face with both hands, letting out a pitiful, choked groan. “Jenna... please. You have to help me. I have a six-thousand-dollar monthly mortgage on my new house. My wife is threatening to leave me because of the public scandal from the wedding. If you don't talk to Emmett, I’m going to lose everything!”
I looked at my brother.
I looked at the boy who had forced me to buy a pale blue dress so I wouldn't clash with his aesthetic. The boy who had put me beside the kitchen doors so I wouldn't "ruin his entrance."
“Nicholas,” I said softly, leaning forward. “Do you remember what you told me at the entrance of the estate?”
Nicholas stared at me, terror in his eyes.
“You said, ‘You’re just not on that level. Sit in the back, eat your dinner, smile, and please don't embarrass me.’”
I stood up from the table, zipping my leather bag shut.
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“Now,” I said, looking at all three of them with complete, unbreakable serenity, “I am giving you the exact same advice. Figure out your own life, Nicholas. Because I am done carrying your weight.”
I turned and walked out of the room, leaving the screams and frantic pleas of my family echoing behind the heavy mahogany doors.
