I grew up in a mansion in Greenwich, Connecticut. The long, winding driveway was lined with trees that were older than our country. The house itself was made of stone with ivy crawling up the walls. It looked like something from an old movie. From the outside, it was perfect. We were the perfect family. Inside, it was cold. The floors were marble and the sound of our footsteps echoed. My mother hated noise. She said it was unrefined. We learned to walk quietly. We learned to speak quietly. Our house was not a home. It was a museum, and we were parts of the display.
My father, Richard Hail, was a corporate giant. That’s what the magazines called him. To me, he was a loud, heavy footstep in the hall. He was the smell of expensive cologne and the rustle of the Wall Street Journal. He ran a massive tech company, Hail Innovations. He built it himself. He always said he demanded perfection. He did not tolerate failure. He did not tolerate feelings. Feelings were a weakness, a distraction from success. His office was at the end of the main hall. The doors were dark mahogany. We were never allowed inside unless we were called. I was usually called to bring him coffee or a file I had prepared for him.
My mother, Catherine, was a socialite. Her job was to look beautiful and to host parties that made other women jealous. She was thin, elegant, and her blonde hair was always perfect. Her voice was soft, but her words were sharp. She would look at me and say, “Charlotte, your posture. You are slouching. No one respects a woman who slouches,” or, “That color washes you out. You look pale.” She never said it with anger. She said it with disappointment, which always felt worse. Her entire life was about a calendar: the charity gala, the museum board meeting, the luncheon. My job was to manage that calendar. I had been doing it since I was fourteen. I scheduled her drivers, her hair appointments, and the caterers for her parties.
Then there was my brother, Ethan. Ethan was two years older than me. He was the golden heir. He looked like my father. He had the same charming smile and the same coldness in his eyes. He was the one who mattered. Everything was for Ethan. Ethan was going to take over the company. Ethan was the future of the Hail name. And I was Charlotte. I was the invisible glue. I was the one who made sure the perfect family stayed perfect. My role was simple. I was not allowed to fail. I was not allowed to feel. I was not allowed to need anything. My job was to serve.
