Chapter 3 - The Morning After
At six o'clock the following morning, the sun rose over the city in a cold, grey mist.
In my apartment on Cooper Street, my old life was packed neatly into two small suitcases. But I wasn't on Cooper Street. I was standing in the master dressing room of the Harrison estate, watching two personal stylists zip me into a tailored black double-breasted suit made of crisp Italian wool. A high silk blouse covered my throat, and simple, flawless diamond studs rested in my ears—not the imitation pearls I had worn to the Grand View ballroom.
I looked in the full-length mirror. The swelling on my cheek had gone down, thanks to an ice pack and medical cream, leaving only a faint, subtle blush beneath my foundation. My long dark hair was pulled back into a slick, low ponytail.
I didn't look like an intern anymore. I looked like a Harrison.
Howard walked into the dressing room, carrying a fresh cup of black coffee and a thick blue leather binder.
"Good morning, Miss Emma," he said, handing me the binder. "The morning financial news has just aired. Would you like the summary?"
"Go ahead," I said, taking a small sip of the hot coffee.
"At 5:30 a.m., Harrison Capital formally issued a notice of acceleration on Hayes Enterprises' twelve-million-dollar senior secured debt," Howard read from his notes. "By 6:15 a.m., two major trade partners cancelled their distribution agreements with Richard Hayes, citing corporate governance risks following the incident at the gala last night."
"The video?" I asked.
Howard’s lips twitched into a thin, grim line. "Despite our swift legal notices to the primary platforms, several guests managed to mirror the video before it was pulled. A fifteen-second clip showing Mrs. Clarissa Hayes tearing your dress and slapping you has gone viral on three major investment forums. The public sentiment is... extremely hostile toward the Hayes family."
"And Brandon?"
"Mr. Brandon Hayes has spent the last three hours attempting to reach your old mobile phone number," Howard replied, pulling a small silver burner phone from his pocket. "He has sent forty-two text messages and placed fourteen calls. Would you like to read them?"
I took the burner phone from Howard’s hand. The screen was flooded with notifications.
Emma, please answer me! My mother was crazy last night, I swear I didn't mean for any of that to happen!
Emma, people are saying William Harrison is your father. Is that true? Please tell me this is a bad joke.
Emma, my dad’s office just got locked out of the banking network. We need to talk right now. I love you, please call me back!
I scrolled through the desperate pleas, feeling neither anger nor pity. Eight hours ago, when I was standing in a ruined dress clutching my torn skirt, he hadn't even had the courage to say my name. Now that his father's company was bleeding out on the trading floor, he suddenly discovered his deep affection for me.
I handed the phone back to Howard. "Delete the account. I don't want his messages cluttering the server."
"Understood," Howard said. "Your vehicle is waiting downstairs. The emergency board meeting at Hayes Enterprises has been called for 9:00 a.m. Richard Hayes has convened his directors to discuss an emergency bailout package from a third-party equity firm. He has no idea that Harrison Capital purchased ninety percent of that equity firm’s distressed assets at midnight."
"So he thinks he’s meeting his savior?" I asked, picking up my leather briefcase.
"He does indeed, Miss Emma."
"Let's not keep him waiting."
Downstairs, my father was waiting in the courtyard beside a fleet of three black armored sedans. He adjusted his silk tie as I walked out into the morning air.
"Are you ready for this, Emma?" he asked, examining my face carefully. "You don't have to go in person. I can have Howard execute the takeover from a distance."
"No," I said, stepping toward the middle sedan as a security guard opened the door for me. "Clarissa told me last night that people like me need to learn our place. I think it's only polite that I show up in person to deliver her receipt."
My father chuckled, a proud, sharp sound. "That's my girl. Drive safely, Howard."
The convoy pulled out of the private driveway, smoothly merging onto the highway toward the city's financial district. As we drove, I watched the grey rain slicking the windshield. For two years, I had believed that staying small, quiet, and hidden was the only way to protect myself from the shallow cruelty of the wealthy elite. I had thought that if I asked for nothing, no one could take anything from me.
I had been wrong.
Cruelty didn't care whether you were small or quiet; it only cared whether you were helpless.
When our convoy pulled up in front of the sleek, thirty-story glass tower bearing the blue emblem of Hayes Enterprises, a small crowd of reporters and nervous-looking employees was already gathered near the revolving doors. Rumors of the company's sudden, catastrophic liquidity crisis had already leaked to the press, and the stock price was plunging in pre-market trading.
May you like
As I stepped out of the black sedan into the cold morning wind, wrapped in my tailored black suit with Howard walking half a step behind me, the reporters snapped photos furiously. None of them recognized me as the girl in the yellow dress from the viral video—not yet.
I walked through the glass doors, my heels clicking loudly against the polished lobby floor, heading straight for the private executive elevator that led to the top floor boardroom.
