DISGUISED

The Price of Success

What is he doing here? Hmmmm, interesting. I took my seat at the table, ready to contribute.

The meeting commenced, and as my father laid out the agenda, I listened intently. When the discussion shifted towards the new marketing strategy, I couldn’t hold back any longer. My mind raced with ideas that had been brewing for weeks, and I raised my hand, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.

“I believe we should focus on a digital campaign that highlights our sustainability efforts,” I suggested. I watched as my father nodded, clearly intrigued. As I elaborated on my proposal, I could see the expressions around the table shifting. My ideas weren’t just welcomed; they were embraced.

I continued to contribute throughout the meeting, sharing insights and answering questions. With each passing moment, I could see my father’s pride growing, reflected in his approving glances. For the first time, I felt like I belonged there, contributing to the legacy he had built.

Once the meeting wrapped up, my father called me aside. “Elmma baby, I’m really proud of you,” he said, his voice sincere. “Your insights today were invaluable. Thank you for everything you do for us.”

I felt a swell of pride. “Thanks, Dad. I just want to see the company grow.”

But as the evening stole by, fatigue set in. The stress of the day lingered, and despite my father’s invitation to stay longer, I knew I needed to leave. “I have to go, Dad. See you soon,” I said, giving him a quick hug before slipping out of the conference room.

But just as I reached for the door handle, it slammed open with a force that nearly knocked me back.His eyes were sharp, his demeanor aggressive. He didn’t bother with pleasantries or even an apology for his late intrusion.

Of course, it was him.

He stormed in, as if the world owed him the space. Same swagger, same arrogance, and not even a nod to acknowledge that he had just interrupted the entire room. He hadn’t changed one bit.

I felt my pulse quicken. I hadn’t seen him in months, and yet, here he was, still as rude and arrogant as ever. A part of me wanted to walk right out the door, but curiosity and anger kept my feet planted.

“Hold on,” he said without apologies, making his way to the table, he went straight to business. “I need a few minutes, I’ve got something to say,” Scott Knox declared, all eyes now on him.

I crossed my arms, already anticipating some ridiculous comment, but instead, he began outlining a strategy that none of us had thought of. As he spoke, the irritation in the room began to dissipate. Even my father’s previously tense expression eased into something that almost looked like admiration.

Damn it, Scott. Why did he always manage to do this? One moment he was infuriating, and the next, he was turning the entire room in his faviour .

When he finished, the board was silent for a beat, clearly mulling over his ideas. My father leaned back in his chair, regarding Scott with a thoughtful look before giving a nod of approval. I had to admit, he reminded me a bit of myself at his age. “That was... insightful,” he said slowly, as if the words tasted strange on his tongue. Scott simply smiled, feeling superior as ever.

We had both contributed significantly to the project proposal, the kind of work that made you sit up straight and pay attention. My thoughts had flowed seamlessly into the discussion, offering insights that connected the dots, filling gaps others might have missed. The board had listened, even nodded. They understood the depth of what I was offering. And yet, I knew how this would go. It was a familiar dance.

Upon being late, Scott had a way of taking the most straightforward points and twisting them just enough to make them appear more valuable.

He was smooth too smooth and the board members loved it. It wasn’t that his ideas were necessarily better than mine, but the way he presented them, the confidence he exuded, made it hard for anyone to argue. And once he received his round of applause, there was a moment of silence, a void where I felt everything I had contributed to the conversation was swept aside.

My father, the CEO, had called for a brief recess after that round of applause, his eyes flicking between Scott and me. He knew the routine. He knew the game. We were both asked to step outside the boardroom, to give them time to deliberate, and the moment the door shut behind us, Scott flashed me that knowing look. The one that said, I’ve got this.

I turned to him, doing my best to keep my face impassive. “You think they’re going to pick your ideas?”