Chapter 49 History Repeats
I applied to Hawthorne & Vale for a Development Analyst position. It was a private real estate investment and development firm headquartered in Boston.
They called three days later.
The interview was clinical. No small talk. No “tell us about yourself.” They handed me case studies and incomplete datasets and asked me to find the failure points. They wanted to know how I would kill a project before it killed them.
I didn’t hesitate.
By the end of the interview, they made me an offer. I accepted.
The job was a necessary stepping stone for my larger plan.
My role was to dissect billion-dollar projects before they were ever allowed to breathe.
I evaluated locations, stress-tested financial assumptions, modeled long-term risk, and predicted market behavior under worst-case scenarios.
Where others saw blueprints and profit margins, I saw patterns. Fault lines. Pressure points.
I stayed in my Boston apartment.
After graduation, Amy found her own small place in the same building. She said it was time. That she wanted her space back. I didn’t argue.
Brandon called on a Tuesday evening.
I let it ring twice before answering.
“Ashley,” he said. “Hi. I was hoping you’d pick up.”
“I’m on my way home,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”
“I’m good.”
“How’s the new job?” he asked. “Settling in?”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Busy. Challenging. Exactly what I wanted.”
“That’s good,” he said, pride bleeding into his voice. “I always knew you’d do well. Data science, right? Development analytics?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve told a few people about you,” he continued. “They’re very curious.”
I didn’t respond.
He cleared his throat, recalibrating.
“And Boston? Are you… happy there?”
“It works,” I said. “What did you want to talk about, Dad?”
There was a pause.
“Well,” he said carefully, “the Richards Group is celebrating its twentieth anniversary next month.”
I closed my eyes.
“We’re hosting a formal event,” he went on. “A dinner. Some speeches. Clients, partners. People who’ve been with us since the beginning.”
“That’s great,” I said. “Congratulations.”
“I was hoping you’d come.”
“No.”
He inhaled softly. “Ashley—”
“I just started my job,” I said. “I’m not taking time off for corporate celebrations.”
“It’s on a weekend,” he said quickly. “And it’s important. To me.”
I waited.
“I want my daughters there,” he added. “Both of you.”
“I’m busy,” I said.
Another pause. Heavier this time.
“I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t matter,” he said. “Twenty years is a milestone. It would mean a lot if you showed up. Even just for the evening.”
“I’m not interested in networking with your colleagues.”
“That’s not what this is,” he said. “There’s something else. Something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“After your mother died,” he continued, “there were… things. Personal things. I didn’t know what to do with them at the time.”
I said nothing.
“I wasn’t ready to go through them,” he said, as if that explained it. “Years passed. They ended up in storage. I almost forgot about them.”
“What things?” I asked.
“Your mother’s journals,” Brandon said. “Several of them. Handwritten. Some from when she was pregnant.”
“You had them?”
“Yes.”
I thought of my grandparents. Of how carefully they’d preserved every fragment they had left of her. Letters. Photos.
“You never mentioned this.”
“They’re yours,” he said quickly. “Of course they are. I just thought… if you were coming for the anniversary, I could bring them. Give them to you properly.”
I closed my eyes.
He hadn’t planned to give them to me. He’d planned to keep them until they were useful. He was selfish and convinced he was being kind.
“I’d really like you to come, Ashley,” Brandon said gently. “Not just for the company. For family. And for this.”
“When is it?” I asked.
Relief softened his voice immediately. “About a month from now. I’ll send you the details. No pressure.”
Of course.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
“That’s all I ask,” he replied warmly. “I’m proud of you, Ash. Truly.”
“I know,” I said, even though I didn’t.
We hung up.
A month later, I was back in this damn city.
The Richards Group’s twentieth anniversary was held in a private event space overlooking the river.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. White stone walls.
Soft, flattering light designed to smooth age and polish wealth.
Everything about the evening was curated to signal stability, success, legacy.
Valet parking. Discreet security at the entrance. No mistakes allowed.
I arrived alone.
I wore a fitted black silk dress, sleeveless, clean lines, elegant without effort. The hem fell just below my knees. Black four-inch stilettos. My makeup sharpened my features, intensifying the cold blue of my eyes.
My hair hung loose down my back, straight and pale blonde, reaching my waist. I’d only ever trimmed the split ends since my rebirth.
Over the past weeks, I had tried to ignore the elephant in the room. After the phone call. After vomiting in the hotel gym. I had spiraled for a while. Overthinking. Replaying. Obsessing over questions that had no clean answers.
Then, abruptly, something in me snapped into place.
Why was I still dwelling on this?
Even if Nick had slept with Apple, what did it matter now? Why was I allowing the actions of two people who had already destroyed me in another life to bleed into this one?
I had survived worse. I had rebuilt myself from ash. Letting this linger felt like self-betrayal.
The back and forth with Nick, the constant what ifs, wasn’t healthy. It never had been.
So I cut it off.
I ignored every call. Every message. I didn’t block him. I simply removed myself. A week ago, the messages stopped.
I had a pretty good idea why if things were unfolding anything like they had in my past life.
For the event, I was seated at a round table reserved for “family.”
The proud picture of success. The Richards family, complete.
I sat to Brandon’s left. Marissa sat to his right, Apple beside her, and then me again on the other side.
Apple kept glancing toward Nick’s table behind me, where he’d been placed strategically among key partners and legacy families.
Every time I shifted, every time I lifted my glass or leaned forward slightly, I felt his stare press into my back.
I didn’t turn or acknowledge him.
Wine was poured. Speeches began. Applause rose and fell on cue.
I listened with half an ear as Brandon spoke about growth, resilience, legacy. The familiar mythology men like him built around themselves. Marissa watched him like a proud wife. Apple nodded at the right moments, smiling when she was meant to smile.
Between courses, Apple lifted her phone.
She angled the camera toward her plate first, capturing the scallops before they were touched.
The symmetry. The foam. The garnish placed just so.
Then she tilted the phone outward, panning slowly across the room.
She was careful with her angles. She leaned a fraction of an inch away from me, barely perceptible, but intentional.
Her thumb moved with instinctive precision, cropping, reframing, curating. Years of muscle memory at work.
Then she panned the table. Marissa smiled for the camera without missing a beat. Brandon didn’t even notice he was being filmed. Apple lingered there, then stopped short.
As if the space beside her were empty.
As if I wasn’t sitting right there.
It amused me.
Apple shone best when she was alone. When she controlled the lighting, the angles, the narrative. Next to me, something in her dulled. Not because I tried to outshine her, but because I didn’t need to try at all.
I took a sip of wine, then glanced at her phone as she hovered over another shot.
“Do you want to take one together?” I asked lightly. “A sister picture.”
She froze. Just for a second.
Then she laughed quickly. “Oh, no. I’m good. I’m just posting the food.”
“Of course,” I said pleasantly.
I returned my attention to my plate, chewing slowly, unbothered.
About twenty minutes later, during a lull between courses, Brandon leaned closer to Marissa.
“Did you know Payton was pregnant?”
Marissa blinked. “What?”
“Her parents mentioned it earlier today.”
Marissa hummed, thoughtful. “Well. If they told you, it must be true.”
Brandon’s gaze slid past her and landed on me. “Ashley, you knew, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I said simply.
Marissa’s head snapped back to me. “You knew?”
“I did.”
Her expression tightened, irritation flashing before she smoothed it away. She hadn’t known. That much was obvious.
I didn’t elaborate.
Payton had called me from the honeymoon. Laughing and crying at the same time. She thought it was jet lag at first. The nausea. The exhaustion. Then she took a test in a hotel bathroom overseas. Positive. Back in the States, the doctor confirmed it. Nearly two months along already.
She had never sounded happier.
I was happy for her.
Apple shifted in her chair.
“I can’t drink alcohol either,” Apple said lightly, nudging her untouched wineglass away.
Brandon glanced at her, confused. “Since when?”
She shrugged. “Lately.”
A beat.
“I’ve just been feeling off,” she added.
Marissa watched him over the rim of her glass.
“She’s been nauseous,” Marissa added casually. “Very sensitive to smells.”
Brandon frowned. “Are you coming down with something?”
I leaned back slightly and observed.
Marissa let out a small, knowing laugh. “Oh, Brandon,” she said gently. “You’re hopeless.”
He looked between them. “What?”
She reached for Apple’s hand and squeezed it. “Tell him.”
Apple hesitated just long enough for the moment to swell, then smiled. “I’m pregnant.”
Brandon froze.
“Pregnant?” he echoed.
Marissa beamed. “You’re going to be a grandfather.”