The Ignore Daughter Have True Honor Chapter 07
The private lounge at the Ashford estate in Newport.
Mr. Ashford poured me a glass of Château Lafite ’82 himself.
“Dr. Whitmore. What happened today was unacceptable on the Ashford family’s part.”
He set the bottle down. His voice was steady, sincere.
“I’m removing Julian from the BCI program. He won’t be involved.”
“A man who can’t read a room isn’t capable of leading Ashford Industries into what’s next, and he isn’t capable of managing a partnership with you. I’ll build a separate team that reports directly to you. The terms are yours to name.”
I raised the glass and took a sip.
Lafite ’82.
Beautiful wine.
Mr. Ashford was a shrewd man.
He had no shortage of grandsons. Julian was one of many.
But the person capable of rescuing a half-billion-dollar program that had stalled for two years? There was exactly one, globally.
An hour later, we had a framework.
I would take equity in the joint venture in exchange for the technology — twenty percent of the project company, plus a seven-figure licensing fee.
The specifics would go to the lawyers, but the shape of the deal was locked.
Mr. Ashford drove me to the Four Seasons Newport himself and opened my door.
“Get some rest, Dr. Whitmore. My driver will pick you up in the morning. I’d like to show you how Newport has changed.”
I thanked him and walked into the lobby.
The Presidential Suite was on the forty-second floor.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Narragansett Bay coastline.
I showered, wrapped myself in the hotel robe, and settled into the couch by the window with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.
My phone was buzzing nonstop.
The family group chat had ballooned to over two hundred messages.
My mother had sent seven or eight one-minute voice memos in a row.
Her tone was unrecognizable from the night before.
“Hazel, where are you? It’s not safe for a young woman to be out this late alone. Come home. Mom already made up your room.”
“Mom was in the wrong before. Mom said things she shouldn’t have. Please don’t take it to heart. What kind of mother doesn’t love her own child?”
“Do you remember when you had pneumonia at four years old? I stayed three days and three nights with you in the ER. You’ve always had a place in Mom’s heart.”
“Hazel, we’re family. Blood is thicker than water.”
Right.
I didn’t respond.
My father:
“Hazel, Dad knows you’ve had it harder than the others. But Serena’s grades were always exceptional. This family only had so much to invest. It made sense to focus on the one with the most potential.”
“Now that you’ve made it, Dad is truly happy for you. Come home sometime. I’ll make you your favorite mac and cheese.”
I scrolled past.
Mac and cheese is Serena’s favorite.
Not mine.
Elliot had sent a barrage of messages, unable to contain himself.
“Hazel! Do you have any idea how many people called me after word got out?”
“Everyone at my firm is reposting you on LinkedIn. Even my VP came over and asked, ‘Is Dr. Hazel Whitmore really your sister?’ Do you know what that did for my reputation?”
“What hotel are you at? I’ll come pick you up tomorrow. Let me throw you a welcome dinner. That Michelin three-star I mentioned. I’ll book the best table in the house.”
“Hazel, I know I’ve said things over the years. Don’t take them personally. We’re family. There’s nothing we can’t talk out.”
Ethan’s messages were, for the first time in his life, careful.
“Hazel, I didn’t know the full picture today. I spoke out of line. I hope you’ll forgive me. Back in school you were always sharper than the rest of us. I should have seen it earlier.”
He followed it with a thumbs-up emoji.
“If you ever need anything, just reach out.”
Another message right after:
“Listen to me. It should be the other way around. I should be the one asking you for help. Are you free tomorrow? Let me buy you dinner. Consider it an apology.”
I actually laughed.
In high school, trying to score points with Serena, he’d told me to my face: “Hazel, you’re honestly dense. How are you not even half as smart as Serena?”
Now he was telling me I’d always been sharper than the rest of them.
That’s how it works.
The moment you have value, people rearrange their memories around you.
You don’t need to have said the right thing. You don’t need to have done the right thing. Someone else will smooth it all over for you.
Melanie’s message was long.
“Hazel, I am so proud of you. I’m genuinely so happy for you.”
“Now that you’re this successful, do you think we’re all just kind of pathetic in comparison?”
“I’m just this basic nine-to-five girl. I’m not like you, with everyone hanging on my every word. I’m honestly jealous.”
“Get some rest in Newport. Don’t burn out. When are you back in New York? Let’s grab dinner. I want to really catch up.”
I laughed under my breath.
Every line supposedly celebrating me. Every line quietly measuring me.
The truth was, our friendship hadn’t started to rot with Serena’s arrival.
It had started earlier. Middle school, when I’d just transferred in and was ranked at the bottom of the class. That’s when Melanie had been the sweetest to me.
Then I started showing real ability in math and physics. Teachers began calling me out in class.
Her congratulations always came with a hint of something bitter.
“Mrs. Klein singled you out again, bestie! I’m so proud of you! But SATs are cumulative, remember? Your English is such a mess. Who knows if you’ll even get into college.”
“You solved that AP Calculus problem? Amazing! Oh but this English lit question was so easy. How did you get it wrong?”
Small, quiet cuts. That was my adolescence.
I was just young enough to still hold out unrealistic hope for family and friendship.
An Instagram notification lit up on my screen.
I opened it.
A new post from Serena, from an hour ago.