Chapter 6 - The Morning AfterThe penthouse suite at the Boston Harbor Hotel was bathed in the pale, golden light of early Sunday morning. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the harbor shimmered quietly, sailboats drifting lazily across the water.
I woke up wrapped in crisp, high-thread-count sheets, staring up at a ceiling I didn't recognize. For a second, my mind panicked, running through the mental checklist of where I was, only for the events of the previous evening to flood back in a rush.
The wedding. The kids' table. Emmett walking across the ballroom. Nicholas’s shattered expression.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and noticed a fresh cup of dark roast coffee and a warm croissant resting on a small marble table near the window, accompanied by a handwritten note on thick cardstock.
Jenna, Downstairs in the lobby lounge whenever you're ready. Don't rush. The board meeting doesn't start until noon, and trust me, they can wait. —E.
I smiled, slipping out of bed and walking over to the window. The city of Boston was waking up, oblivious to the seismic social earthquake that had rattled a Vermont estate fifty miles away.
When I finally showered, changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater, and took the elevator down to the lobby lounge, I found Emmett sitting at a corner table overlooking the water. He wasn't alone.
Sitting across from him was a sharp-looking woman in a tailored charcoal suit—Marcus Vance, wait, no, Sarah Thorne, the chief legal counsel for Stewart Technologies. I recognized her face from several high-profile corporate filings.
As I approached, Emmett stood up immediately, pulling out the chair beside him.
“Good morning, Jenna. Sleep well?” he asked, his eyes bright and attentive.
“Better than I have in years,” I admitted, taking a seat. “Though I feel like I'm stepping into the middle of an espionage thriller.”
Sarah Thorne offered a warm, professional smile, sliding a sleek black leather folder across the table toward me.
“Good morning, Jenna. I’ve read your portfolio going back three years,” Sarah said without preamble. “And after last night’s little public spectacle, your phone has apparently been ringing off the hook with inquiries from venture capitalists, PR firms, and tech journalists trying to figure out who the mysterious 'J. Vance' behind Stewart Technologies really is.”
I stiffened slightly. “My confidentiality agreements—”
“Are ironclad,” Sarah interrupted smoothly, tapping the folder. “And we are going to keep them that way. But secrecy in the age of viral billionaires has an expiration date. Emmett and I have been discussing an alternative. Instead of hiding behind a pseudonym, how would you feel about stepping into the light on your own terms?”
May you like
I looked at Emmett. He was watching me carefully, his expression open and supportive, leaving the choice entirely in my hands.
“What does stepping into the light look like?” I asked.
Related Stories
