Chapter 3 - The Truth Breaks on National Television
Before Grant could open his mouth to deliver another condescending remark, the muted television in the living room flashed a brilliant crimson banner across the screen. A breaking news alert cut through the sports broadcast: EASTBRIDGE COMPLETES NORTHSTAR ACQUISITION.
Mom turned her head sharply toward the sound. "Is that... is that news about your company?"
Then, the anchor’s face vanished, replaced by a high-definition photograph. It wasn't a glamorous, heavily filtered corporate headshot designed for a magazine cover. It was the exact same unpretentious photograph Celia had mocked just three months ago when I updated my personal LinkedIn profile—the one where I wore a simple black turtleneck with my hair pulled back, standing outside my first tiny office space above a dentist's clinic.
The news anchor’s voice echoed clearly through the open-concept room: "Eastbridge Holdings has officially concluded its historic acquisition of Northstar Distribution. Industry insiders have long speculated on the identity of the mysterious founder and controlling shareholder of Eastbridge. Today, regulatory filings confirm that the multi-billion-dollar conglomerate is entirely owned and operated by self-made tech investor and strategist, Maren Sterling."
Grant’s hand froze mid-air above his untouched plate. The mocking smile completely vanished from his face, replaced by a slack-jawed expression of profound shock. He slowly turned his head to look at the television, then back to me, as if his brain was violently rejecting the data flashing before his eyes.
"Maren..." Grant whispered, his voice cracking. "That... that's a glitch. That has to be a Photoshop thing. You... you borrow money from Mom for gas sometimes!"
"I haven't borrowed money in six years, Grant," I said softly, cutting a piece of turkey with absolute calm. "I just chose not to flaunt my bank accounts in a house where people measure human worth by the brand of their car."
Celia stood up so abruptly her chair screeched loudly against the hardwood floor. Her hands were trembling violently at her sides.
"Maren," Celia choked out, her voice pitching into a desperate, panicked plea. "We need to speak privately. Right now."
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"We can talk after dinner," I replied, taking a slow sip of water.
"No!" Celia screamed, her composure entirely shattering. Her voice cracked with genuine terror. "Before the transition team authorizes any additional payments!"
