I crouched on the floor, sorting through the market data I'd collected through countless skipped meals and sleepless nights, and tears dripped one by one onto the contracts.
Ten minutes later, I straightened up and dialed the company's internal line, my voice level.
"Roger Finch, pass the word. The sales team meets in the conference room in ten minutes."
I shoved the noise out of my head and sat down with the sales director, the general manager, and the others to work through next quarter's plan.
We drafted the expansion strategy and reached out to our regular clients.
By the time the work was done, it was night, and I realized I hadn't eaten a single thing all day.
I lingered in the office for a quarter of an hour, then grabbed my car keys and headed home.
She was just a young girl. A little jealousy, a little insecurity, that I could understand. Mom and Dad would believe me. They would see right from wrong.
The moment I stepped into the living room, even though I'd braced myself, something in my chest still ached.
My mother sat beside Irma Finch, feeding her one spoonful at a time.
Dad sat on the sofa, poring over a stack of documents.
"There, sweetheart, eat more. I simmered this premium health tonic for two hours myself, added cordyceps and everything. Look how thin you are."
"The doctor said today that you're anemic, too. How on earth did that foster mother of yours treat you?"
Irma clung sweetly to my mother's arm, smiling as she said,
"Mom, my foster mother loved me too. Pulling weeds every day, cooking, washing clothes, it really wasn't so hard. All the kids up in the mountains live that way."
"After Dad passed, she raised me and my little brother all on her own. It wasn't easy for her. If hitting me a few times and yelling at me made her feel better, then that's fine."
My mother's face shifted, and Dad looked up too, a fresh flicker of anger in his eyes.
"Despicable. Treating a daughter of my Pruitt family like that…"
At the sound of the door, every head turned toward me.
Irma scrambled to her feet at once and, in her flustered haste, knocked over my mother's bowl.
She dropped back down to the floor, frantically picking up the pieces.
"Mom, I'm sorry, it was all my carelessness. I'll never break another bowl, I promise. Please don't hit me."
My mother couldn't hold back her grief and fury another second. She pulled Irma into her arms and broke into wails.
"Oh, my daughter, you've suffered so much."
Irma's eyes reddened as well, and she gently dabbed at my mother's tears.
"Mom, it's all my fault. I accidentally got my sister burned this morning, and she didn't mean to push me, she was just angry for a moment. And tonight I knocked over the bowl by accident. I really am useless."
Alex Gilbert stepped in front of me, his gaze hard and cold,
his tone thick with resentment.
"Ida, I know you can't stand it, having to hand over what's yours to Irma, so you back her into a corner at every turn. Irma's timid by nature, that's why she panics and goes pale in front of you."
"Let me make this clear. Irma is my fiancée. Drop that superior attitude of yours, keep a low profile from now on, and stop bullying her."
There was no guilt on Alex's face. Only cold contempt.
I looked at the four of them, my eyes icy, and suddenly I saw it in every gaze: something heavy, something laden, disappointment, sorrow.
So it really was me who had bullied Irma Finch.
And I had no idea how to explain.
The living room sank into silence. After a moment, my father spoke, slowly,
"Ida, good thing you're here. There's something I need to tell you."
"I know you're a capable, good child. But our Pruitt family's true daughter has come home now. I've decided to transfer all of Pruitt Group's shares over to Irma, to give her the footing she needs to stand in high society."
"And the clients, the team, the resources you hold, ease Irma into them little by little, and let her take over from here on out."
A bucket of ice water poured down over my head. The living room was as warm as a spring breeze, yet I was shaking from head to toe.
