Chapter 4

"It's 9:28, Miss Harris."

Amy gently reminded from outside the door.

I closed the report I was halfway through reviewing.

My phone lit up on the desk.

Ella's voice message. Fifteen seconds.

"Ethan said he messaged you and you didn't reply. Are you doing this on purpose? This meeting is really important for him today. If you won't help, fine, but don't drag him down."

A pause.

Her tone switched frequencies.

"I'm telling you, Jenna, if Ethan's meeting falls through today, I'm telling Mom and Dad it's because of you. You're taking out your frustration about not getting married on us---when will you ever grow up?"

Fifteen seconds to say all that without breathing.

With outsiders she draws out every word coyly. With me every word stabs without gaps.

Mom's call came right after.

"Jenna, are you fighting with Ella again?"

"No."

"Then why won't you help Ethan? It's a ten-minute thing and you're making excuses."

"Mom, I'm at work---"

"What's so important about that little company of yours? Ethan's matter is serious business, can't you tell what's important?"

"Mom---"

"Don't Mom me! I'm telling you, Jenna, if you won't even help with this little thing, don't come back to this house. You ran off after college graduation, you weren't there when your dad had surgery, you didn't come to your sister's wedding. Six years. Have you done one thing for this family?"

I leaned back in my chair.

Outside the window the September sunlight was blindingly white.

"You've been competitive since you were little, always comparing yourself to your sister. What for? You've worked yourself to death, what's the point?"

From far away on the other end---Ella's voice: "Mom, stop, she has her reasons."

Mom sighed.

"Fine, don't help then. You never cared about this family anyway."

Beep---

She hung up.

I placed my phone on the desk.

My fingertips felt nothing. Not pain, just gripped too tight.

The day I rang the bell at the NYSE, I stood on the platform watching colorful confetti fall, hundreds of people applauding below. The lights were scorching.

In that moment what I thought wasn't about success.

It was: if only Mom could see this.

Later I sent that video to the family group chat.

No one replied.

Two hours later Ella sent: [Did you go traveling? Looks so fancy.]

Then the group started discussing what color Ethan White's new car was.

"Miss Harris."

Amy's voice came from the doorway.

"It's 9:30 sharp. Mr. White has been waiting in the meeting room for ten minutes. Should I bring him over now?"

I opened my eyes.

Sat up straight.

Materials spread on the desk in front of me. Debt ratio, cash flow, product progress, thirty million in financing---every data point in my hands.

"Bring him in."

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Leather shoes hitting the floor with steady, confident rhythm.

Amy's voice arrived first: "Mr. White, this way please."

The door pushed open.

Ethan White stood in the doorway.

Sharp suit, business plan bound and held in his hands. A practiced smile on his lips, the standard expression for meeting unfamiliar investors.

He looked up.

His gaze swept across the office, across the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Landed on my face.

The smile disappeared.

The document slipped an inch between his fingers.

His lips moved, his voice like something was blocking it.

"...Jenna? Jenna Harris?"

I looked into his eyes.

From this end of the desk to that end, less than two meters.

Ten years ago when three people sat together, his gaze never lingered on me.

"Mr. White, please sit."