Chapter 2
Gasps erupted from the front rows where the senior vice presidents stood, their hands flying up to cover their mouths in shock.
Julian’s mouth moved silently, trying to form words, but his throat seemed completely choked off by sheer, unadulterated panic.
He took a frantic step toward the stage, his polished dress shoes crunching over the broken champagne flutes lying on the floor.
“Audrey... this is some kind of sick joke,” Julian stammered, his usual suave, booming voice reduced to a pathetic, high-pitched quiver.
“You don’t own Northstar! Your mother was a simple schoolteacher who ran a small community arts foundation in South Boston!”
I smiled down at him from the podium, leaning forward slightly against the wooden stand.
“My mother was indeed a dedicated philanthropist, Julian,” I replied softly into the microphone.
“She used the foundation as her public passion, but her private office on Congress Street managed four billion dollars in venture equity.”
May you like
“An office you walked past every single weekend on your way to golf courses, completely oblivious to what was inside.”
“Because you were far too busy worshipping your own ego to ever ask a single intelligent question about my life.”
