“I am not going,” I said firmly into the receiver.
Beatrice stopped her mocking laugh instantly.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I am currently working.”
“You? Working? Don’t make me laugh out loud! Brian said you live in
a miserable little apartment down the avenue. If you come today and behave yourself properly, maybe we can convince him to take you back into his house.”
At that moment, I heard Brian’s voice in the background.
“Pass me the phone, Mom.”
A few seconds later, he spoke in that condescending tone I knew all too well.
“Samantha, don’t make a fool of yourself in front of my family. You won’t last a single month without my financial support. Come over, help my mom with the preparations, and stop pretending to be an independent career woman.”
I looked over at the sleek ivory dress laid out on my chair and the official folder bearing the crest of a prestigious hotel in Baltimore.
“I can’t come over today. I have a critical board meeting scheduled.”
“Where exactly? In some tiny greasy spoon diner?”
I smiled softly to myself.
“In a high-end
establishment you have been trying to partner with for years.”
Brian burst into loud, obnoxious laughter.
“Of course you do. And I own the Metropolitan Opera House.”
I hung up the phone.
At 5:20 in the morning, I called a local taxi. My destination was not the lavish suburban home of the family, but the Grand Plaza Hotel, where I would be introduced to high-profile investors, master chefs, and corporate executives as the head culinary director of an international hospitality project.
Beatrice knew absolutely nothing about this step.
Brian did not know either.
Neither of them imagined that the culinary success they had been boasting about for years had my name hidden behind its foundation.
As the car drove toward the grand entrance in Baltimore, I received one final text message from Beatrice:
“If you don’t arrive in twenty minutes, we will drive over and speak directly to your
parents.”
I felt my blood run cold in my veins.
I couldn’t believe what was about to happen next…
PART 2
My father, Thomas Reyes, owned a small custom knife-making forge in the old industrial district of Annapolis. For Beatrice, it was nothing more than a filthy blacksmith shop. For Brian, it was an embarrassing secret he preferred to hide from his elite friends.
