Chapter 5 - "Good Evening, President Carter"
Michael didn't answer his wife.
He didn't look at Jason. He didn't look at the high-society alumni at Table 1 who were raising their glasses to him.
In front of eighty silent, watching people, Michael gently but firmly pulled his arm completely out of Lauren’s grip.
He took a step forward. Then another.
He began walking fast—almost marching—straight across the polished parquet floor of the ballroom. He bypassed the head tables, bypassed the stage, and headed straight toward the dark alcove by the service kitchen.
"Michael? Where are you going?" Lauren called out, her voice laced with sudden, sharp confusion as her high heels clicked behind him.
Jason followed right on her heels, thoroughly puzzled. "Michael? The networking table is over here!"
Michael didn't stop.
He reached Table 12. He stopped precisely two feet in front of my chair.
Right there, under the harsh light of the kitchen service exit, in front of the wilted centerpiece and the drafty air vent, Michael dropped his hands to his sides, stood at rigid, military attention, and deeply bowed his head at a ninety-degree angle.
The silence that fell over the ballroom was so complete, so sudden, that you could hear the faint hum of the ice machine inside the kitchen.
Michael swallowed hard, his voice trembling with sheer, unadulterated terror.
"Good evening, President Carter."
The entire room froze.
Jason stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging wide open.
Lauren frowned, looking between her bowing husband and me like she was trying to decipher an alien language.
"Michael... what are you doing?" Lauren laughed nervously, a frantic, shrill sound. "Why are you bowing to Emily? And why did you just call her 'President Carter'?"
Michael didn't stand up straight. He kept his head bowed, his eyes fixed firmly on the carpet near my pumps, sweat glistening on the back of his neck.
"Because, Lauren..." Michael whispered, his voice shaking so hard it cracked, "...Ms. Emily Carter is the sole owner, Chairwoman, and Chief Executive Officer of Carter Holdings."
A collective, audible gasp echoed through the ballroom.
Sarah at Table 12 nearly knocked over her water glass. Mark stared at me like I had suddenly sprouted wings.
Lauren’s face went entirely white. Her python clutch slipped right out of her hand, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
"W-What?" Lauren stammered, her hands flying to her mouth. "N-No... no, that’s impossible! Emily’s dad had a tiny welding shop! She’s... she’s broke! She’s wearing a plain dress! She sat by the kitchen!"
Michael slowly raised his head, his face contorted in pure panic as he looked at his wife.
"Her father expanded that shop thirty years ago, Lauren!" Michael choked out, his eyes wide with horror. "Ms. Carter owns the entire conglomerate! She owns the manufacturing plants! She owns the real estate division! She owns the Scarsdale estate!"
Michael turned back to me, his hands shaking violently as he held out the leather key fob.
"Ms. Carter... I am so terribly sorry," Michael stammered, his voice desperate. "I... I brought the executive Escalade to take you back home whenever you are ready. Mr. Robert and Mrs. Susan are safely in bed. I... I didn't know you were attending this reunion..."
I sat quietly in my wooden chair, looking at the driver who had served my family for twelve years.
May you like
Then, I raised my eyes and looked directly at Lauren.
"Well, Lauren," I said softly, my voice carrying cleanly across the silent room. "It seems your husband does have strong connections at Carter Holdings."
