HARRISON
I hate these meetings.
Boardroom full of smug suits who think my last name is a footnote and my résumé a typo. Half of them pretend to listen while checking the value of their weekend homes. The other half are waiting for me to trip over a decimal point so they can pounce like it proves something.
I didn’t go to Stanford. I didn’t come from old money. I didn’t intern because my dad pulled strings—I started in this company sweeping floors.
And now I run the damn budget.
So when someone says—offhand, like it’s harmless—“Well, we all know a four-year degree is the minimum for leadership material,” it takes everything I’ve got not to snap the damn pen in my hand.
I glance up from the report in front of me, nice and slow, and meet eyes with the speaker—David Brinley, head of one
