Chapter 9 - The Final Audition
Spring arrived in Boston, bringing with it blooming magnolias along the Commonwealth Avenue Mall and a sense of absolute renewal. My agency was preparing for our biggest milestone yet—the launch of our international division with a gala event at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.
The guest list was a literal who's-who of global industry leaders, philanthropists, and media executives. And for the first time in my life, my name was the only one at the top of the invitation.
Two days before the gala, my father sent an email to my personal account. It wasn't an angry demand, nor was it a manipulative guilt trip. It was the email of a broken man who had finally realized the scale of his error.
Jenna, the email read. Your mother and I would like to attend the gala on Friday night. We don't ask for a VIP table. We don't ask to be introduced to your clients. We just want to sit in the back and watch you. We want to see the daughter we failed to understand. Nicholas refuses to leave the house, but your mother and I want to apologize. Properly. Please let us come.
I sat at my desk for a long time, staring at the words on the screen. I called Emmett into my office and showed him the message.
"What do you want to do, Jenna?" he asked gently, leaning against the edge of my desk, his hand resting on my shoulder. "This is your kingdom now. You dictate the terms."
"I think... I want them to come," I said after a long pause. "Not because I need their approval anymore. I don't. But because I want them to see the truth. I want them to see that the world they worshipped didn't require sacrificing your soul or your family to enter. You just had to be excellent."
"Then we will arrange it," Emmett smiled, kissing the top of my head. "But they are sitting at Table Nineteen. It seems poetically appropriate."
I laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the room. "Yes. Table Nineteen. But this time, it will be the most beautiful table in the museum."
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The night of the gala was spectacular. The grand rotunda of the museum was illuminated with soft gold lights, reflecting off classical sculptures and modern masterpieces. When my parents arrived, they were led by a courteous staff member past the roaring crowd of photographers and executives straight to a beautifully decorated table near the back garden entrance.
Table Nineteen was adorned with exquisite white orchids and fine crystal, but it remained in the exact location that allowed a full, unobstructed view of the main stage. My parents sat down quietly, looking around the room with wide, humbled eyes as they watched billionaires and dignitaries eagerly waiting to shake their daughter's hand.
