Chapter 3 - The Man Behind the Famous Speeches
The next morning, Jenna found Emmett walking alone near the estate’s rose garden.
He wore no tie, and his suit jacket was folded over one arm. Without the stage lights, security team, or corporate entourage, he looked less like a billionaire and more like an exhausted father taking a quiet walk.
“You improved the dragon sentence,” Jenna said.
Emmett turned.
“I did.”
“You removed two words.”
“They were unnecessary.”
“They were structurally important.”
“They were emotionally dishonest.”
Jenna tried not to smile.
They were discussing a passage from his upcoming speech. He wanted to describe fear as a dragon people spent their lives running from. Jenna had written that courage required turning around and naming the dragon.
Emmett had changed the line.
“You were right,” he said. “The original version was better.”
“I’ll record this moment for historical purposes.”
He smiled, then glanced toward the house.
“Your brother delivered an excellent toast last night.”
“My brother delivered my excellent toast.”
“I assumed so.”
“He told everyone it came from his heart.”
“Technically, the raw material did.”
“Most raw material is not ready for public display.”
Emmett laughed.
It was one of the qualities Jenna liked most about him. He did not surround himself with constant seriousness simply because other people considered him powerful.
They continued along the path.
“Has Nicholas mentioned his investment proposal to you?” Jenna asked.
“Repeatedly.”
“Are you interested?”
“Stewart Global is reviewing Aurelius Events.”
Jenna stopped walking.
“You’re seriously considering investing?”
“We consider many things.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Would you expect him to?”
No.
She would not.
Emmett studied her expression.
“Do you know something I should know?”
Jenna hesitated.
Her loyalty to Nicholas had survived many disappointments, but she could not lie for him.
“I know his company has been under pressure. I don’t know the details.”
“Our preliminary review found inconsistencies.”
“What kind?”
“Projected revenue listed as confirmed contracts. Vendor debts excluded from internal summaries. Client retention figures presented creatively.”
“That sounds like a polite way to say the numbers are misleading.”
“It is.”
Jenna looked toward the house, where Nicholas was laughing with a group of groomsmen.
“Does he know you found the inconsistencies?”
“Not yet.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because the board has asked you to join the final communications and ethics review.”
Jenna stared at him.
“Me?”
“You understand narrative manipulation better than most financial analysts.”
“I write speeches.”
“You identify the difference between truth and performance.”
Emmett sat on a stone bench.
“For the past six months, you have done more than write my words. You have challenged decisions, questioned claims, and prevented me from presenting convenient half-truths. That is not a decorative skill.”
Jenna remained standing.
“The board approved the new position?”
“Yesterday.”
She knew Stewart Global had been discussing a new leadership role focused on communications, public trust, and corporate ethics.
She had helped Emmett design its responsibilities.
She had never imagined he was designing it for her.
“The title is Chief Narrative and Integrity Officer,” he said. “You would report directly to me and the board.”
Jenna sat beside him slowly.
“That sounds invented.”
“All titles are invented.”
“It also sounds enormous.”
“It is.”
“I’ve never managed a global department.”
“You’ve never been given the authority that matches the work you already do.”
Jenna looked at the roses moving in the morning breeze.
For years, she had remained invisible by profession. She had watched other people stand beneath bright lights and receive praise for words she had written alone.
She had told herself invisibility was freedom.
But perhaps part of her had begun to believe that invisibility was all she deserved.
“When would this be announced?” she asked.
“Monday, unless you decline.”
“My brother’s wedding is tomorrow.”
“I am aware.”
“He’s trying to impress you.”
“I am also aware of that.”
“I don’t want my announcement to interfere with his wedding.”
Emmett gave her a patient look.
“Your career is not an attack on your brother.”
“It might feel like one to him.”
“That does not make it one.”
Jenna lowered her eyes.
Emmett’s voice softened.
“People who benefit from your silence often describe your voice as disruptive.”
The sentence settled inside her.
She thought of every family dinner where Nicholas had interrupted her.
Every gathering where he had introduced her as “still figuring things out.”
Every time she had made herself smaller to protect his confidence.
“I need to think,” she said.
“Of course.”
“And the Aurelius review?”
“You will not participate unless you accept the position. The personal conflict must be disclosed to the board. You would advise on communication and integrity, but you would not make the final investment decision.”
“That sounds fair.”
Emmett stood.
As he prepared to leave, Jenna spoke again.
“Your speech title is wrong.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Which one?”
“‘The People We Fail to See.’”
“What should it be?”
Jenna looked toward the mansion.
“‘The People We Choose Not to See.’”
Emmett considered the change.
Then he nodded.
May you like
“Send me the revision by tonight.”
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