Chapter 11

Three months later, I walked back into the Grand Whitlock ballroom. Same crystal chandeliers. Same champagne towers. Same four hundred of the richest people in Manhattan. Except this time, the banner over the stage read: WELCOME, NORA WHITLOCK. CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER. The board had voted that morning. Unanimous. Gran had cried. Actually cried, in the boardroom, then denied it for the rest of the day. I wore gold. Floor-length. My great-grandmother's diamond earrings and my mother's small...