Chapter 7 - The Table She Finally Owned
One year after Grant Holloway held up my cracked phone so his friends could laugh at me, I stood on the fourteenth floor of the same Madison Avenue building.
The Sterling was packed.
But I wasn't carrying plates.
Northstar Research was hosting its first annual investor dinner.
One hundred and eighty guests filled the room.
Fund managers.
Journalists.
Analysts.
Executives.
Dana now managed the entire restaurant.
Nolan stood beside the stage.
Grant sat at table one.
Derek was beside him.
I walked to the microphone.
“Last year, someone at that table asked me for investment advice.”
Everyone looked toward Grant.
He covered his face.
Laughter spread across the room.
I smiled.
“He didn't actually want advice.”
More laughter.
“He wanted entertainment.”
Grant called out, “This speech is becoming hostile.”
I pointed toward him.
“He also stole my phone.”
Derek shouted, “True!”
Grant looked at him.
“You're dead to me.”
The room erupted.
I waited.
Then continued.
“But that moment changed my life.”
The room quieted.
“Not because a billionaire noticed me.”
I looked around.
“It changed my life because I finally stopped waiting for someone else to decide I was qualified.”
Grant’s expression softened.
“I spent years believing that unfinished college meant unfinished potential.”
I shook my head.
“It doesn't.”
Applause began.
I raised a hand.
“Northstar now employs thirty-two people. We serve pension funds, universities, family offices, and institutional investors.”
Nolan smiled.
“And last month, we repaid our original investment.”
I looked at Grant.
“With interest.”
Grant stood and applauded first.
Everyone followed.
After dinner, the restaurant emptied.
By midnight, only Grant and I remained beside the glass windows.
He handed me a small box.
I stared at it.
“Grant.”
“Relax.”
“That sentence has never made anyone relax.”
“It isn't what you think.”
I opened it.
Inside was a phone.
Brand new.
I looked at him.
“You bought me a phone?”
“Your screen has been cracked for fourteen months.”
“It still works.”
“You run a multimillion-dollar research company.”
“And?”
“And your phone looks like it survived a car accident.”
I laughed.
Then noticed something engraved on the case.
Six words.
YOU SHOULD BE ASKING WHAT TO SELL.
I looked up.
“You remembered.”
“I remember everything about that day.”
“Even humiliating me?”
“Especially that.”
He leaned against the window.
“It was probably the most expensive mistake I've ever made.”
“You've lost hundreds of millions of dollars.”
“Exactly.”
I slipped the phone into my bag.
“What happened to my old one?”
Grant looked suspiciously innocent.
“Grant.”
“I kept it.”
“You stole my phone again?”
“Borrowed.”
“Why?”
He reached into his jacket and removed my cracked phone.
Then he placed it carefully in my hand.
“I wanted to see those charts one more time.”
I looked down at the shattered corner.
That phone had contained the first version of Northstar.
Charts built while my mother slept in hospital rooms.
Calculations made after double shifts.
Work nobody knew existed.
I had once been embarrassed by it.
Now I wasn't.
“I’m keeping this one too,” I said.
“I assumed.”
The elevator opened behind us.
Nolan stepped out.
“Sorry. Forgot my laptop.”
He saw us.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes,” Grant said.
“No,” I said simultaneously.
Nolan grinned.
“I'll be quick.”
He grabbed his laptop.
Before leaving, he turned.
“Oh, Fiona. Tomorrow's meeting moved to ten.”
“I know.”
“And Grant?”
“What?”
“Try not to steal anything.”
The elevator closed.
I laughed.
Grant shook his head.
“I regret introducing you two.”
“You didn't.”
“What?”
“I met Nolan at brunch.”
“Right.”
“The day you humiliated me.”
“You're never letting that go.”
“No.”
He smiled.
Then his expression became more serious.
“Would you change it?”
“What?”
“That day.”
I considered the question.
The laughter.
The embarrassment.
The fear.
The anonymous email.
Professor Reeves.
Keller.
Northstar.
This office.
This life.
Him.
“No.”
Grant looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Really.”
I stepped closer.
“But I'd change one thing.”
“What?”
“When you asked what you should buy?”
“Yes?”
“I should've charged you for the answer.”
He laughed.
“How much?”
I pretended to calculate.
“Considering what I saved you?”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Very.”
“Give me a number.”
I looked directly at him.
“Dinner.”
Grant blinked.
“Dinner?”
“Tomorrow night.”
His smile slowly appeared.
“I think I can afford that.”
“Don't be late.”
“I won't.”
“And Grant?”
“Yes?”
“Bring your own phone.”
He laughed again.
We walked toward the elevator together.
A year earlier, I had stood in that room carrying champagne for people who believed money made them the smartest people at the table.
Now my name was on the research reports they read before making billion-dollar decisions.
My student loans were gone.
My mother's debt was settled—and I was repaying Grant exactly as promised.
Northstar belonged to me.
And Grant?
Grant had eventually learned something his money had never been able to teach him.
Never confuse someone's job with their intelligence.
Never mistake quietness for ignorance.
And never laugh at the waitress's financial charts before asking who made them.
The elevator doors opened.
Grant held them for me.
“After you, Ms. Adams.”
I stepped inside.
“Thank you, Mr. Holloway.”
He joined me.
The doors began closing.
Then his phone buzzed.
Grant checked the screen.
His smile vanished.
I raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
He slowly turned the phone toward me.
A Northstar alert flashed across the screen.
I read the company name.
Then looked at him.
“You own that?”
Grant hesitated.
“Possibly.”
“How much?”
Another pause.
I crossed my arms.
“Grant.”
He sighed.
“A lot.”
I smiled.
“You should be asking what to sell.”
May you like
The elevator doors closed on the sound of his laughter.
THE END
