I spent two hours walking through the party. I held a glass of water. I smiled. I nodded. I did not say much. I found a corner near a large pillar and I just watched. I watched my father laugh. I watched my mother glide through the crowd, a queen. I watched Ethan accept congratulations like he had just cured a disease.
I felt completely, totally alone. I was in a room with five hundred people and I was invisible. Or worse, I was a prop. I was the sad, broken part of their perfect display.
I thought about leaving. I could just walk out the door. But I knew I could not. This was it. Mr. Harrison was right. My father was a proud man. He had to do this publicly. I had to see it through.
Then the lights dimmed. A spotlight hit the stage. My father walked up to the microphone.
“Good evening,” he said. His voice was deep. It filled the room. “Thank you all for coming. Tonight we celebrate my son—my heir—Ethan.”
The crowd applauded. Ethan stood up and bowed.
My father spoke for ten minutes. He talked about Ethan’s brilliance. He talked about Ethan’s vision. He talked about the future of Hail Innovations.
“Ethan is ready to take this company to the next level,” my father said. “He is working on a new global initiative—a project that will change the face of our industry. But to do that, he needs the right tools.”
I felt my stomach clench. Here it comes.
“He needs to be able to move, to fly, to be where the deals are at a moment’s notice. He needs a jet.”
The crowd murmured, impressed. “And we, as a family, are going to provide it.”
My father’s eyes scanned the crowd, and then they landed on me. He smiled. It was a cold, terrible smile.
“We are so proud of all our children,” he said. “My daughter Charlotte has recently come into her inheritance from her grandfather—a very, very significant amount.”
