22. Jack
JACK
Parker Simon would rather walk away than be the reason we fall apart. I know in my gut that’s why she left us behind. She’s too good of a person for it to be anything else.
But she’s wrong. This was never about her. It’s Vivian.
Vivian Thatcher, the queen of calculated chaos, who builds her empire one puppet string at a time. Who carved loyalty into her son with knives and demanded he bleed polished apologies when she stabs him in the back.
This is her fault. Not Parker. Never Parker.
And I’m not letting her control me too.
I walk into Gavin’s office late, still steaming from the way the town hall prep went down. It’s almost time for the livestreamed meeting, and every speech sounds like it was designed by Vivian’s ghost. Hollow. Sanitized.
I barely make it three feet into the room before Gavin says, “We need to talk about Edison.”
I stop. “What about him?”
“He’s taking over as CHRO. Effective immediately.”
I stare at him. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“He’s a suit. He’s been riding Vivian’s coattails for two decades. He’s a ‘smile in your face, knife in your back’ kind of hire.”
“He’s senior, experienced, and the board trusts him.”
“You mean Vivian trusts him.”
Gavin’s eyes narrow. “You’re always pushing me to take charge. So, I did.”
“That’s not leadership, that’s mimicry. You picked someone who’s going to nod along while you second-guess yourself.”
Gavin stands. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“I think you’re trying to do what she would do.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, what’s not fair is pretending Edison’s appointment won’t be seen for what it is—a rollback to when Vivian was in charge. The rest of the C-suite isn’t going to swallow this quietly.”
“I’m not running a democracy,” Gavin says coldly. “I didn’t ask for permission.”
He says it like it’s final. And maybe it is. But all I can hear is Vivian’s voice behind his. Not literally, but in tone. In posture. In the way he tightens when challenged. She’s in his head. In the way he runs this place.
In the way he’s letting Parker slip through his fingers without lifting a hand.
“Parker’s not coming back, you know,” I say.
Gavin’s expression hardens. “She made her choice.”
“She left because she’s trying to stop us from imploding.”
He doesn’t respond. And that tells me everything I need to know.
We rebuilt this place because we wanted to do things differently. But now? Now it feels like all we did was give Vivian a bigger stage.
During the town hall, I sit on the far right side of the dais.
Edison sits on the left, smug in a way only men like him can manage. Unbothered. Confident in all the wrong ways. He’s got that slick charm built for handshakes and poison—years of keeping his nose just clean enough to rise without ever being too noticed.
The HQ staff crowd into the main floor of the atrium. The second floor has folding chairs and video screens. Some of the interns stand in the back with coffees and wide eyes. They’ve never seen this many executives in one place unless it’s a holiday.
Phil sits in the front row with the other VPs. Still none the wiser. Still believing his little sister just burned out. Still proud of a company that’s bleeding from the inside.
The town hall livestream begins with Gavin’s brief, polished welcome. I sit with my hands folded, staring down at the wood-trimmed armrest of the stool they gave me, ignoring the stage lighting, the applause, the questions fielded to Gavin about strategic partnerships and retention initiatives.
I don’t hear any of it. Because I’m watching Edison. Waiting for it. And then—he takes the mic. His smile is polished. His suit immaculate. He leans in just enough to fake humility.
“I know there’s been a lot of uncertainty over the last few months,” he says, voice amplified across the floor. “Staff changes. Leaks. A lot of rumors. But I’m here to tell you—those interpersonal issues? Handled.”
There it is. A careful jab. Tidy. Sanitized. Parker. He doesn’t name her, but he doesn’t have to. Everyone knows what he’s talking about.
He goes on, “And now that we’ve refocused our internal priorities, VT Global can do what it’s always done best—build influence and protect image.”
The irony nearly chokes me.
He’s talking about influence. Image. After the woman who saved our gala and our reputation was chased out of the company by his mentor’s vendetta.
I shift in my seat.
Edison isn’t done. “And as for leadership?” he says with a chuckle. “Well, Gavin’s got some big shoes to fill.”
Gavin doesn’t flinch. But I do. Because I know what that is. I know what it means when a man like Edison says that with a smile.
We don’t think you’re ready. We don’t believe in you yet. We’ll tolerate you until we figure out how to replace you.
And Gavin? Gavin just lets it happen. He takes the mic back. Calm. Cool. And says, “Thank you, Edison. Let’s all congratulate him on stepping into the CHRO role.”
Polite applause. Polished smiles.
And I’m so fucking done. I’m done pretending this is okay. That we’re building something meaningful. That Parker didn’t matter. That Vivian doesn’t still run this company from behind a curtain of enablers.
I look at Gavin. Then Edison. Then down at the mic in front of me. And I make a choice.
I don’t wait for the applause to die down. I’d sooner choke than wait for this. I just lean forward and tap the mic in front of me until it stops buzzing.
People start turning. The audience quiets. Even Edison looks up, smugness paused for a flicker of curiosity. Gavin side-eyes me—confused, maybe worried I’ll say something I shouldn’t, according to him.
Good. He should be worried.
“Excuse me,” I say, voice sharp in the speakers. “I wasn’t scheduled to speak. But since we’re all being transparent today, I’ve got something to add.”
I pause. One second. Two. I look directly at the front row. No one is ever ready to risk a friendship. But I can’t not do this. I look at Phil, and he raises an eyebrow, confused. I’m pretty sure they all are.
I stopped being confused the moment Gavin announced Edison as CHRO.
“I’m resigning from my role as COO of VT Global.”
The silence is instant, like someone cut the power to the room. Someone lets out a half-choked cough.
And then Edison—recovering—leans forward. “Jack?—”
“I’m not finished,” I say, eyes still forward. “I’m proud of the work I’ve done here. I’m proud of what this company was meant to be. But I can’t keep pretending we’re living up to that vision.”
More silence.
“We preach loyalty. Family. Integrity. But the second something doesn’t fit into the approved narrative, we erase it. We erase her. ”
Gasps ripple through the audience now. Heads turning. People whispering. Phil goes still. I look directly at him.
“The woman you all watched pull off the most successful gala in VT history—she’s not here anymore. And you can thank people like Edison for that.”
Edison shifts in his seat, but doesn’t interrupt.
I go on, “You can also thank the culture we’ve let fester.
The one that says image is everything, even if it costs us the people who hold the place together.
She didn’t leave because she was unprofessional.
She left because she was protecting us. Because she thought we were worth it. And we failed her.”
Phil’s face tightens.
I clear my throat, because I need this to ring out, my final words to this cursed company.
“Parker Simon is the bravest, strongest woman I know. We would have been lucky to keep her. We would have been smart to keep her. Instead, she was used like a scapegoat. Every person involved in that should be ashamed of themselves.”
I don’t wait for permission. I walk off the dais, jacket still buttoned, hands steady. Something inside of me settles, and my heart rate doesn’t even rise. I spoke the truth. Let them deal with it.
And as I pass the front row, Phil stands up. Red in the face. Breathing hard.
I half expect him to punch me right now. He knows exactly what I meant by what I said. That we’ve been lying to him this whole time when it comes to Parker. He has every right to hate me for that, or at least hit me.
Instead, he storms out.
I don’t wait for the building doors to close behind him. I move fast, cutting through the whispering crowd, ignoring the looks and camera phones and Edison’s voice echoing behind me trying to pull the meeting back on track.
None of it matters. As of now, only one thing does. Phil.
He’s already halfway across the lot, stalking toward his car with the kind of energy that says don’t follow me by the time I catch up.
“Phil!” I shout.
He doesn’t stop.
“Phil, come on?—”
He reaches his car. Black Lexus. Driver’s side already unlocking as he yanks the handle.
I get there just before he ducks in. “Just—listen to me.”
He turns. And the look on his face could crack steel. “You wanna explain why you just dropped my sister’s name in front of every employee in the building ?”
“I was defending her.”
“You were making it worse.”
“She left because she thought she was the problem.”
“And now everyone knows she was involved with you. And who else?”
I flinch. Just slightly. But I don’t back down. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”
Phil slams the door shut again. Straightens. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point is you— you three —used her. You let her believe she was safe, and then you let her get torn apart.”
“We didn’t let anything happen?—”
He shakes his head, stepping back. “She’s better off away from all of you.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I’m her brother. I get a say.”
“You get an opinion. She gets to live her life.”
“She gets to raise kids. My niece and nephew. She gets to carry whatever fallout is left behind from this circus you built.”
I swallow the guilt. But it doesn’t go down easy. “I love her.”
Phil laughs once, bitter. “You and the other two?”
“Yes.”
“All of you?”
“Yes.”
“If you really love her, if you want what’s best for her…” He opens the car door again. “Then you’ll leave her alone.”
“I won’t. I can’t.”
He looks at me one last time. “Then we’re done.” The engine growls to life, and the car peels out of the lot, tires whispering against asphalt.
I stand there, hands still curled into fists at my sides. The sun’s beating down now. Hot. Relentless. But all I feel is cold because we just lost Phil. And maybe we’ve lost Parker too.
No. Fuck that. This isn’t the end. I’ve never been a quitter, and I’m not about to start now.