Chapter 7 - The Counter-StrikeBefore Sarah could answer, my phone—which I had turned back on ten minutes prior—erupted in a violent vibration against the marble table.
It wasn't Nicholas. It wasn't my mother.
It was a push notification from a major tech journalism outlet: ‘Mystery Genius Revealed? Stewart Technologies Insider Linked to Vermont Socialite Wedding Drama.’
Attached to the article was a blurry photo taken by one of Nicholas’s wedding guests, showing Emmett sitting across from me at the kids' table, with the headline screaming: ‘Four Billion Dollar Speech Written at Table Nineteen.’
I stared at the screen, my chest tightening slightly. The digital world moved at lightspeed, and the gossip hounds at the wedding had already leaked fragments of the confrontation. Worse, an online forum had already dug up Nicholas’s wedding website, connecting my name to his, and speculation was running wild.
“Well,” Sarah murmured, glancing at her own tablet. “Looks like the cat is out of the bag a little sooner than anticipated.”
Emmett frowned, his jaw tightening as he scrolled through the article. “I'll have our PR team issue a takedown and a strict statement regarding privacy—”
“No,” I said, cutting him off.
Both Emmett and Sarah stopped and looked at me.
“No?” Emmett repeated softly.
“If we issue a defensive statement, they’ll just spin it as damage control,” I said, a sudden spark of absolute clarity washing over me. For years, I had let my family define my narrative. I had let Nicholas shove me into corners, label me a hobbyist, and treat me like an embarrassment. If the world was going to know who I was, I wasn't going to let it be through a blurry paparazzi photo at a children's table framed by my brother's failed elitism.
“What do you want to do, Jenna?” Sarah asked, a glint of genuine respect flashing in her eyes.
“I want to control the narrative,” I said, looking directly at Emmett. “I want to write a piece on my own terms. Not as an anonymous ghostwriter hiding behind initials, but as the strategist who builds the stories that move industries. And I want to publish it on Monday morning.”
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Emmett slowly leaned back, a brilliant, genuine smile spreading across his face—the kind of smile that didn't belong to a ruthless tech titan, but to someone who had just witnessed a masterpiece unfold.
“Sarah,” Emmett said without breaking eye contact with me. “Cancel my morning meetings. Call our media partners. Tell them Stewart Technologies is hosting a keynote press conference on Monday, and the keynote speaker will be Jenna Vance.”
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