Chapter 10 - THE DRAGON FLIES
Two years after the wedding in Vermont.
The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in New York City was a sea of black ties, haute couture gowns, and diamond necklaces.
It was the annual Global Leadership Gala, the most prestigious philanthropic gathering in North America, attended by heads of state, tech titans, Nobel laureates, and the managing directors of the world’s largest sovereign wealth funds.
At the center of the ballroom stood Table One.
Tonight, Table One was not reserved for political opportunists or social-climbing associates trying to impress their future in-laws.
Tonight, Table One was reserved for the founders and managing partners of Frontier Strategic Ventures: Emmett Stewart and Jenna Vance.
I sat at the center of the table, wearing a breathtaking custom midnight-blue gown by Schiaparelli, its architectural neckline framing an antique sapphire necklace that had once belonged to European royalty. At thirty-one, my name was recognized in every capital on earth as the preeminent strategic mind of my generation.
Beside me sat Emmett, looking effortlessly distinguished in a bespoke Tom Ford tuxedo—the same designer Nicholas had worn, but worn with the quiet, unforced elegance of a man who possessed genuine authority rather than a desperate desire to perform it.
Across from us sat an unexpected guest.
Seven-year-old Parker, wearing a crisp black tuxedo with an actual silk bow tie—properly tied, not a clip-on—was sitting upright in his velvet-cushioned chair, sipping a non-alcoholic Shirley Temple through a crystal glass straw with the solemn dignity of a supreme court justice.
Beside him sat his parents: David and Sarah Sterling, distant cousins of Arthur Sterling who had severed ties with the corrupt family syndicate after Marcus Vance’s conviction and had partnered their green-tech startup with Frontier Strategic Ventures six months ago.
“Miss Jenna,” Parker said gravely, leaning across the white linen tablecloth.
I leaned in, smiling warmly. “Yes, Parker?”
“The dragon-truck patent,” Parker said, his eyes wide and completely serious. “Did the engineers fix the cooling system for the turbo engine?”
Emmett let out a deep, booming laugh that caused several nearby hedge-fund titans to turn and smile.
Emmett reached into his breast pocket, drew out a sleek silver fountain pen, and slid a small, beautifully bound booklet across the tablecloth toward the little boy.
On the cover of the booklet, embossed in gleaming silver foil, was the official blueprint of an electric, all-terrain heavy transport vehicle developed by our advanced logistics division:
*PROJECT DRAKE — HEAVY UTILITY PLATFORM.*
*CO-DESIGNED BY: PARKER STERLING & JENNA VANCE.*
“Cooling system is fully operational, Parker,” Emmett said with absolute professional seriousness. “Six hundred horsepower. Zero emissions. And the prototype has custom emerald-green paint on the front grille.”
Parker’s jaw dropped. He picked up the booklet with reverent, trembling hands, looking up at his parents with eyes the size of saucers. “Dad! Look! The dragon is real!”
Sarah Sterling wiped a stray tear from her eye, looking across the table at Emmett and me with profound gratitude. “You two really are unbelievable. You run a forty-billion-dollar fund, and you spent two weeks making sure a seven-year-old boy’s drawing got approved by an engineering board.”
“Character starts with how you treat the people who have no leverage, Sarah,” I said softly, meeting her eyes with a quiet, knowing smile. “The moment you forget that, you end up at the children’s table.”
A soft chime sounded across the ballroom’s sound system.
The lights dimmed slightly, and the master of ceremonies stepped up to the podium on the grand stage beneath towering cascades of white orchids.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the host’s voice resonated through the grand hall. “Tonight, the International Leadership Council presents its highest honor: the Global Strategic Vision Award. This year’s recipient did not inherit an empire. She did not borrow a pedigree. She operated in the quiet shadows of corporate diplomacy, dismantling systemic corruption, defending institutional integrity, and building an investment ecosystem that prioritizes human substance over superficial currency.”
The entire ballroom rose to its feet in a thunderous standing ovation.
“Please welcome to the stage: Managing Partner of Frontier Strategic Ventures, Jenna Vance.”
The applause was deafening.
Billionaires, senators, European ambassadors, and tech founders stood shoulder-to-shoulder, clapping with genuine, unbridled respect as the spotlight swung across the grand room, illuminating Table One.
Emmett stood, offering his hand to assist me from my chair.
As I rose, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against my cheek, his voice a low, warm whisper that cut straight through the roar of the crowd:
“Go get your wings, Jenna.”
I looked at him, my heart overflowing with an unshakeable, luminous peace that no amount of childhood cruelty could ever smudge again.
I smoothed the midnight-blue silk of my gown, stepped past the crystal centerpieces, and walked down the center aisle of the ballroom toward the stage.
May you like
I did not hurry. I did not look down.
I walked beneath the brilliant, fractured light of the crystal chandeliers, past the applause of the most powerful people on earth, stepping into the bright, unyielding center of the room where I had always, truly belonged.
