Amanda stopped, breathing hard.
“I just… I needed to say…” She gathered herself. “I’m proud of you. I should have said it years ago, but I’m saying it now. I’m proud of you.”
Something in my chest loosened slightly.
“Thanks, Amanda.”
“And I’m sorry for not defending you. For going along with Mom and Dad. For… for all of it.”
“Water under the bridge,” I said again, and this time I meant it more.
She hugged me tight and quick.
“Don’t be a stranger, okay? Call me sometime. Let me actually know my brother.”
“I will,” I promised.
She hurried back to the reception, and Raj and I walked out into the evening air.
“Well,” Raj said once we were outside. “That went better than expected.”
I laughed. It came out shaky but genuine.
“Did it?”
“You didn’t flip any tables. Very restrained.”
“I’m a professional.”
“A professional with $190 million who just crashed his cousin’s wedding via CNN.”
“I didn’t crash it. I was at the bar. Very different.”
“Very different,” Raj agreed solemnly.
We stood there for a moment, watching valets bring cars around for early departing guests. The Fairmont’s exterior was lit up against the darkening sky, elegant and imposing.
“What now?” Raj asked.
“Now?” I checked my watch. “Now we go back to the office and prepare for Monday’s press cycle. Goldman wants us on Bloomberg at 7 a.m.”
“All business as usual.”
“That’s what pays for the $400 scotch.”
We started walking toward where we’d parked. Behind us, the Fairmont glittered with light and music in celebration. Jessica’s perfect wedding. Slightly less perfect now, but still continuing.
My phone buzzed.
A text from my mother.
We need to talk. This isn’t over.
I deleted it.
Another buzz.
My father.
Son, please call me.
Deleted.
Amanda.
That was insane. Also, you looked really good on CNN. Very CEO-ish. Smiling face with smiling eyes.
I smiled and replied, “Thanks. Talk soon.”
Monday morning, 6 a.m. Eastern, Goldman Sachs issued the official press release.
By 6:15, we were trending on Bloomberg, CNBC, and the Wall Street Journal. By 7 a.m., Raj and I were in the Bloomberg studio being interviewed about our meteoric rise and revolutionary algorithms.
By 8:00 a.m., my phone had 43 missed calls from my mother.
By 9:00 a.m., the Wall Street Journal had published a profile.
The dropout who built a quarter-billion-dollar company while his family thought he was broke.
Someone had talked to the press. I suspected it was one of Jessica’s wedding guests. The story was too good not to share. The article included details about the wedding, the CNN reveal, my family’s shock.
It painted them in an unflattering light.
My mother called again at 9:47. This time I answered.
“Ethan.” She sounded like she’d been crying. “Have you seen the Journal?”
“I have.”