“We’ve been watching your attempts at running a business,” Michael said, setting down his third cup of imported coffee as if the gesture itself was somehow an accomplishment. “The small office in that questionable part of downtown, the late hours—clearly, it’s not working.”
Diana, Michael’s wife, nodded sympathetically. Her diamonds sparkled as she spoke. “There’s no shame in admitting defeat,” she added, as though she could relate to the hardship of entrepreneurship. “Michael’s firm is always hiring junior analysts.”
Liza’s mind raced as she listened to them, her heart pounding. They had no idea. They thought they knew everything about her life, about her struggles, but they had no clue about the truth.
Liza sipped her coffee, her eyes scanning the room. The “small office” they referred to wasn’t what they thought it was. It wasn’t a cramped, struggling space—it was just one of many properties she owned. The real office, the one they didn’t know about, was 40 stories up in a glass tower downtown. It overlooked the very city that she was quietly reshaping, and it was a far cry from the “failure” they thought they saw.
Liza’s gaze shifted to Michael as she set down her cup. “Michael’s firm?” she repeated, a slight smile playing on her lips. “I’ll pass. I’m doing just fine without it.”
