And, of course, no one suspected that I was the CEO, the one with full control over more than $25 million in actively managed assets each day.
“Sweet but foolish,” my mother would say every time I declined an invitation to family gatherings, where all eyes would inevitably be on Logan, the 22-year-old genius little brother who still couldn’t land a stable job.
Logan had failed two rounds of fundraising and burned through over $300,000 of Mom’s investment.
Yet she still praised him like he was the reincarnation of Steve Jobs.
“Logan just needs a little more time,” she’d say. “He has vision. He’s not like the rest.”
And me?
I graduated with honors in economics from Tus University. I paid for all of it through scholarships and by juggling three part-time jobs every semester.
But no one in the family remembered that.
All they saw was that I worked at a bookstore and drove an old 2009 Ford Focus.
Once, at a party celebrating Logan’s fresh new startup—his third attempt, really—my mom pulled me aside, giving me a disappointed once-over.
“Mia, you should at least wear a little makeup. Serena, Aunt Linda’s daughter, she’s just a secretary, but dresses like a CEO.”
I just smirked, thinking back to that very morning, when I’d approved the acquisition of our eighth commercial building in Chicago’s financial district.
I didn’t need to dress like a CEO.
I was the CEO.
Sometimes I wondered if they were truly blind or if they were just deliberately choosing not to see me, as if I were a shadow in the grand story where they believed Logan was the main character.
One Friday afternoon, my mom called, her voice unusually cheerful.
“Mia, this weekend, Logan’s presenting a new idea for a pet connection app. We’re throwing a little party. I’ve invited a few influential people in tech. Make sure you dress nicely, okay?”
I pressed my lips together, mentally counting the three tech companies I held controlling shares in, one of which had just declined Logan’s pitch for funding last week.
“I’ll stop by.”
“Don’t be late like last time. You made me look bad.”
I hung up, took a deep breath, and opened my laptop.
In 10 minutes, I finished reviewing the weekly report from Trident Financial, the finance firm under the holding group I managed.
One line stood out.
Hayes family: rising debt, poor credit. Two new loans approved in the past month.
Hayes family.
That was my parents.
They had mortgaged the house again.
And I, through layers of shell companies, was the one who had acquired that loan.
I didn’t need threats.
I just watched.
One evening after work, I stopped by my mom’s house, the redbrick home in Newton’s pricey neighborhood.
Inside, the chandelier was still bright. The dinner table was laid with imported cheese and Italian wine, and Logan sat with his legs up on the sofa, enthusiastically pitching to a group of potential investors about an app that lets cats pick their food using scent sensors.
My mom looked down at me from the stairs, shaking her head.
“Goodness, Mia, why’d you drive that old car here? Do you know what the neighbors must think?”
“Probably that I’m not living off my mother,” I replied.
She went quiet, then turned away without a word.
That was fine.
I didn’t need praise from someone who had spent a lifetime subtly cutting me down with words wrapped in velvet.
After that party, Logan asked for another $80,000 to complete the beta version.
My mother took out that amount using a credit card with one of the highest interest rates on the market.
I knew because I’d just received the loan approval report addressed to the headquarters of MNL Credit Group, one of the finance companies I owned through my fourth holding.
They had no idea I was present in every link of their slow collapse.
And I was still waiting patiently because, in this game, the one who smiles last is the real winner.
Winter came early in Newton, and colder than usual.
Snow covered my mother’s walkway, but the usual snow-clearing crew was gone. I noticed it when I slipped while climbing the icy front steps.
The door opened, and my mother stood there with a forced smile, unable to hide the fatigue in her eyes.