By 7:00, all 50 seats were filled. I recognized most of the faces—unts, uncles, cousins twice removed. The Prescott family tree was vast and complicated, held together less by affection than by shared interest in Victor’s success. They came for the free champagne and the networking opportunities. Love was optional. Mixed among them were Victor’s business associates, men in bespoke suits and women in designer gowns, all laughing a little too loudly at his jokes. And in the corner, a photographer from Forbes documenting everything for the puff piece that would undoubtedly call Victor a visionary.
The evening progressed like a carefully orchestrated performance. Appetizers, toasts, anecdotes about Victor’s early struggles that conveniently omitted my mother’s family money. Helena played the gracious hostess, gliding between tables with practiced ease. Marcus held court near the bar. Clarissa posed for the photographer like she was auditioning for a magazine cover. And I sat in my corner, speaking only when spoken to.
Then came the main event.
Victor rose from his chair, crystal glass in hand, and the room fell silent. He was wearing a charcoal brony suit, a PC filipe gleaming on his wrist. His silver hair was immaculate. His smile was camera ready.
“Thank you all for being here,”
he began, his voice carrying the confidence of a man who’d never been told no.
“This award means a great deal to me. Not because of what it represents professionally, but because of the people who made it possible.”
He gestured to Helena.
“My beautiful wife who stands by me through everything.”
Applause.
“My son Marcus, who will carry on the Prescott legacy.”
More applause. Marcus raised his glass.
“My daughter Clarissa, who brings grace and ambition to everything she does.”
Clarissa beamed. Helena dabbed at fake tears. And of course—Victor paused, his gaze sweeping the room until it landed on me.
“I am proud of all my children”—another pause, longer this time—“except the loser sitting at this table.”
The words dropped like a bomb. For one heartbeat, the room was frozen. Then someone laughed, then another. Then Marcus was applauding, slow and deliberate.
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