Moja menadżerka powiedziała, że ​​zapłaci 100 tys. dolarów, żeby mnie już nigdy nie widzieć, po tym jak kryłam ją 23 razy… Ale nie wiedziała, co po cichu przygotowałam.

Garrett’s mouth opened.

Closed.

He looked back down at the pages like they were hallucinations.

“You… you own…” he stammered.

“I own the majority stake,” I corrected. “Through a holding structure under Birch. Quietly. It was a smart investment. Steady cash flow. Good client base. It aligned with our hospitality risk portfolio.”

Garrett stared at me.

“When?” he whispered.

“Three years ago,” I said.

The room went silent.

Garrett swallowed hard. “So… my paycheck…”

“Has been coming from me,” I said gently.

His face crumpled.

He put his head in his hands.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

I didn’t gloat.

I didn’t smile.

Because this wasn’t revenge.

It was truth.

And truth can be brutal.

“I didn’t buy it for you,” I told him. “I bought it because it made sense. And because…”

I hesitated.

“Because what?” he asked, voice muffled.

“Because I wanted to keep you safe,” I admitted.

Garrett looked up sharply.

“You didn’t need to,” he whispered.

“I know,” I said. “But I did anyway.”

His eyes filled.

“Why?” he asked again, but this time it wasn’t about the acquisition. It was about us.

“Because you’re my brother,” I said simply. “And because loving someone doesn’t always look like what they deserve.”

Garrett’s breath hitched.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Correct,” I replied.

A broken laugh escaped him.

Then he said, “So what now?”

I tapped the folder.

“Now,” I said, “you keep your job.”

He stared.

“And you start acting like the man you thought you were,” I continued. “Not the one Mom bragged about. Not the one Sandra tried to steal money from. The real one.”

Garrett nodded slowly.

“And if you want to earn a place in my life,” I added, “you do it without me handing it to you.”

He swallowed hard. “Okay.”

I watched him for a long moment.

Then I said, “There’s a board meeting next month.”

He blinked. “For Redwood?”

“Yes,” I said. “And you’re going to be there.”

His eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because Redwood is merging with Birch’s risk management services,” I said. “We’re expanding. And I want you to see something.”

Garrett stared at me like he didn’t understand.

“I want you to see what it looks like,” I said quietly, “when someone actually earns their seat.”

The day of the board meeting, I didn’t hold it in some cold corporate tower.

I held it at the Monarch.

In my conference suite.

Because I wanted to control the environment.

And because I wanted to watch the people who’d underestimated me walk into my world.

The Redwood executives arrived in expensive suits, briefcases in hand, the kind of people who smiled with teeth but kept their eyes guarded.

Garrett arrived with them.

He looked nervous.

Not because of the meeting.

Because of me.

He stood by the door, watching as I greeted each board member with calm authority.

Not performing.

Not overcompensating.

Just… belonging.

When the meeting started, I took my seat at the head of the table.

The room quieted.

One of the older board members cleared his throat. “Ms. Burns,” he began.

I smiled politely. “Bethany is fine.”

He nodded. “Bethany. We’re here to discuss the merger details and the integration timeline.”

“Yes,” I said. “But first, I’d like to introduce someone.”

Garrett stiffened.

I turned toward him.

“Garrett Burns,” I said. “My brother.”

A few heads turned.

I continued, “Garrett has worked in Redwood’s claims and compliance division for several years. He also has firsthand experience with what happens when people assume someone is safe to exploit.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened.

I looked around the table.

“We’re not just merging systems,” I said. “We’re merging values. Which means I’m implementing new due diligence protocols. New fraud detection strategies. New oversight.”

A murmur moved through the room.

One executive frowned. “Is that necessary? Redwood has always been—”

“Profitable,” I finished. “Yes. And that’s why people target it. Because profitability attracts predators.”

The room went still.

I leaned forward.

“I don’t care how long you’ve been in this industry,” I said calmly. “If you’re uncomfortable with transparency, you’re uncomfortable with accountability. And if you’re uncomfortable with accountability, you’re not staying.”

Silence.

Garrett stared at me like he didn’t recognize me.

Then, slowly, I saw something on his face.

Pride.

Not the borrowed pride our mother had always handed him.

Real pride.

Because he was finally seeing me as an equal.

Maybe even more.

At the end of the meeting, as executives filed out, one of them lingered.

A man with silver hair and a careful smile.

“Ms. Burns,” he said, voice smooth. “Impressive.”

I tilted my head. “Thank you.”

He hesitated. “I must admit, I didn’t realize Birch Hospitality had such… reach.”

I smiled politely. “Most people don’t.”

He chuckled as if it were a joke, then leaned slightly closer.

“May I ask,” he said, “what motivated you to acquire Redwood in the first place?”

I met his eyes.

“Stability,” I said. “And leverage.”

His smile tightened.

I added, “I like building things that last. And I like knowing who I’m dealing with.”

He nodded slowly, as if making a note.

When he walked away, Garrett approached, hands shoved in his pockets.

“That was…” he began.

“Humiliating?” I offered.

He winced. “No.”

I waited.

He looked at me, eyes raw. “That was… you.”

I nodded once.

“And I don’t know how I missed it,” he whispered.

I shrugged. “You weren’t looking for me. You were looking for a reflection of yourself.”

He swallowed hard.

Then he said, “I want to earn it.”

I studied him.

“Earn what?”

“Your respect,” he said. “A place. Whatever you’ll give me. I want to… I want to be better.”

I let the words sit.

Then I said, “Start with one thing.”

He nodded quickly.

“Stop letting Mom narrate your life,” I told him. “Stop letting anyone narrate it. Decide who you are. Then act like it.”

Garrett nodded, slow and steady. “Okay.”

Weeks passed.

Sandra’s attorney kept sending letters.

Rebecca kept filing responses.

Agent Reeves kept building the case.

And my hotel kept running.

Because the world doesn’t pause just because your family implodes.

One day, Nicole started her internship.

She walked into the Monarch wearing a blazer she’d probably bought secondhand, hair pulled back, eyes wide.

I met her in the lobby.

“You’re early,” I said.

“I didn’t want to be late,” she blurted.

I smiled. “Good. That means you care.”

She swallowed. “I’m nervous.”

“So was I,” I said. “My first day here, I was cleaning bathroom mirrors and praying no one noticed my hands shaking.”

Nicole stared at me. “You really did that?”

“Yes,” I said. “And it didn’t kill me. It made me.”

I walked her to the staff elevator.

As we passed the front desk, one of the guests—an older woman with sharp eyes—looked me up and down.

“You’re the owner,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

I smiled politely. “Yes, ma’am.”

The woman’s gaze flicked to Nicole.

“And who is she?”

Before Nicole could shrink, I said, “She’s the future.”

The woman blinked.

Nicole’s cheeks flushed.

I didn’t give either of them time to sit in it.

I kept walking.

That afternoon, Gerald showed up again.

Not in my office.

Not at a scheduled meeting.

In my lobby.

He strolled in like he owned the place, expensive watch glinting, confidence loud.

My security detail tensed subtly.

I walked down the stairs from the mezzanine and met him at the bottom, wearing a calm smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Bethany!” he boomed. “There she is.”