Chapter 18 - Shadows of the Past
Despite the dizzying heights of my new life, the past has a strange way of knocking when you least expect it.
It happened on a rainy Thursday afternoon while I was reviewing grant files in my loft office. My executive assistant buzzed through the intercom, her voice laced with hesitation.
“Jenna? There’s a man downstairs in the lobby insisting on seeing you. He says he won't leave until you give him five minutes.”
“Did he give a name?” I asked, not looking up from my tablet.
“He says his name is Nicholas. Your... your brother.”
The room went entirely silent. For a fraction of a second, a cold memory of that suffocating Vermont ballroom flashed behind my eyes—the plastic chair, the crying baby, the venomous hiss of ‘Don’t ruin the image.’
“Send him up,” I said quietly.
Ten minutes later, the heavy glass doors of my office swung open. The man who walked in didn't look like the golden boy of the family anymore. Nicholas looked hollowed out. His designer suit was replaced by a cheap, ill-fitting tweed jacket that looked like it had seen a decade of thrift stores. His hair was thinning, his shoulders were permanently slumped, and the arrogant, triumphant smirk he had worn since childhood was completely gone, replaced by a look of profound, soul-crushing defeat.
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He stopped a few feet inside the door, staring around the sprawling, sunlit loft with wide, disbelieving eyes. He looked at my name embossed in brushed gold on the glass wall: Jenna Vance, Managing Partner & Founder.
“Jenna...” his voice was barely a whisper, cracking painfully in his throat. “I... I didn't know where else to go.”
