Chapter 3 - The Ghostwriter Exposed“What... what are you talking about?” Nicholas stammered, taking a stumbling step backward. He looked wildly around the room, desperately seeking support from our parents, but our mother had buried her face in her hands while our father stared blankly at the floor. “Emmett—Mr. Stewart, you’re confused. Jenna doesn't do business. She writes... she writes little stories! Personal essays! Lifestyle blogs! She’s an amateur!”
Emmett let out a cold, humorless laugh that echoed off the crystal chandeliers.
“An amateur?” Emmett stepped closer to Nicholas, forcing my brother to back away step by step. “Mr. Vance, let me educate you on something about the corporate world that your little networking seminars forgot to mention. Real power doesn't wear a loud tie, and real influence doesn't need to scream for attention.”
Emmett reached into the inner pocket of his tailored Tom Ford jacket. He pulled out a sleek, black leather folio, unclipped a gold pen, and withdrew a crisp, folded sheet of heavy cream-colored paper.
“Two weeks ago,” Emmett continued, his voice ringing loud and clear through the silent ballroom, “my communications team was in a full-scale panic. We needed a keynote address for the Global Tech Summit in Pittsburgh. It needed to outline our next five-year AI deployment strategy without tipping off our competitors. We hired three different high-end PR agencies. You know what they gave me? Garbage. Corporate buzzword bingo. Lifeless, sterile, uninspired noise.”
Nicholas swallowed hard, his chest heaving. “I... I don't see what this has to do with—”
“Shut up and listen,” Emmett snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. “Out of desperation, I reached out to a confidential agency that represents a single, elite tier of anonymous writers. A writer who operates under strict NDAs. A writer whose pen name in the industry is Aegis.”
My breath hitched slightly. Aegis. Only three people in the entire corporate sector knew that was my primary alias.
Emmett turned the paper around so the entire front row could see the header.
“Aegis delivered a speech that boosted our stock valuation by four percent in a single trading day,” Emmett said, his eyes locking onto Nicholas with burning intensity. “Do you know how many millions of dollars that translates to, Mr. Vance? That speech was written on a laptop at two in the morning, fueled by instant noodles, by a woman sitting in sweatpants.”
Emmett paused, letting the silence wrap around the room like a noose.
“And that exact same woman,” Emmett pointed a finger directly at me, sitting calmly at Table Nineteen next to Parker and the empty juice boxes, “is your sister. The one you banished to the kids' table because she didn't ‘fit the aesthetic’ of your precious photos.”
The ballroom erupted into instant, chaotic pandemonium.
Gasps, murmurs, and outright gasps of shock bounced off the walls. Investors started whispering frantically to one another. The senior vice president from the regional bank dropped his champagne glass, letting it shatter loudly on the floor.
Nicholas looked like he was having a stroke. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, like a fish gasping for air on a dry dock.
“No... no, that’s impossible,” Nicholas whispered, his voice trembling violently. “Jenna? My sister? She’s... she’s just Jenna! She lives in a two-bedroom apartment! She drives a ten-year-old Honda Civic! She doesn't know anything about artificial intelligence or corporate finance!”
I slowly pushed my chair back, smoothing down the light blue dress Nicholas had forced me to buy. I picked up my clutch, stood up from the children's table, and stepped out from behind the high chair.
I didn't rush. I didn't slouch.
For the first time all evening, I walked with my shoulders back, my chin held high, and a quiet, devastating calm in my eyes.
“You’re right, Nicholas,” I said, my voice carrying clearly across the quieted hall without needing a microphone. “I drive a ten-year-old Honda Civic. You know why? Because I prefer spending my money on real estate and index funds rather than leasing a flashy BMW just to impress people who wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire.”
My mother let out a strangled cry from the front row. “Jenna! Language! In front of your brother’s guests!”
“My guests?” I turned my head, fixing my mother with a gaze so cold she instinctively shrank back into her seat. “Mom, none of these people are his guests. They’re business acquaintances he invited by spamming LinkedIn DMs and begging for RSVPs. Look around. Half of them are wondering whose open bar they just crashed.”
Several executives near the front suddenly looked very uncomfortable and subtly adjusted their collars.
Nicholas stared at me as if I were a ghost. “You... you lied to me. You never told me you worked with Stewart.”
“You never asked, Nicholas,” I replied, taking another step forward until I was standing right in front of him, mere inches away. “Every single time we spoke, you spent thirty seconds asking how my ‘little blog’ was doing before spending the next forty minutes talking about yourself. You were so blinded by your own narcissism, so desperate to look like a high-roller, that you couldn't see the reality sitting right in front of you.”
Emmett stepped up beside me, casually resting his hand near my shoulder in a silent, powerful gesture of solidarity.
“And as for your little wedding,” Emmett added smoothly, his eyes sweeping over the devastated bride standing near the altar in shock, “I think my presence here has caused quite enough disruption. In fact, Mr. Vance... I believe it’s time to talk about your recent business proposals.”
May you like
Nicholas’s face turned the color of ash. “M-My proposals? You’re going to look at them?”
“Oh, I looked at them,” Emmett smiled—a terrifying, predatory smile. “And I have a few notes. But before we get to that, there’s something else you should know about who actually funded this venue.”
