PART 1
“If you ever need a job, just let me know because my husband knows half the business world in San Diego and could get you a decent position,” Charlotte told me, looking at my shoes as if she had just done me a huge favor.
I smiled and raised my glass of water. Twenty years had passed since we graduated from high school, but it only took ten minutes at that class reunion to discover that some people still judged others exactly the same way they did at seventeen: by the clothes, the car, and the last name they could boast about.
My name is Abigail Shepherd, I am thirty-eight years old, and I grew up in Chula Vista. When I was a student, my family lived very frugally because my parents invested almost everything in a small metalworking shop. I wore the same uniform over and over, carried the same backpack for years, and took public transportation to school. Charlotte, on the other hand, was the popular girl with new clothes, constant parties, trips, and an extraordinary knack for making anyone who did not have the same things feel inferior.
After graduating, I studied business administration abroad, and upon returning, I joined the family business. That small workshop grew over the years into Shepherd Enterprises, a corporation with real estate projects, industrial parks, and logistics services. Almost no one in my generation knew that because I never saw the need to advertise it. The only person who knew about my current life was Samantha, my best friend from school.
The meeting was held at a luxury hotel in La Jolla. Upon arrival, Justin, the former group leader, checked my simple dress and my cloth bag, then pointed me to a table against a column at the back.
“Your assignment is over there where everything is already arranged,” Justin said with a indifferent wave of his hand. Minutes later, he greeted Charlotte with big hugs and sat her down right next to the stage.
“Justin organized the tables according to how well each person has done in life,” Samantha explained to me in a low voice.
“A place at a table does not change a person’s worth,” I replied with a quiet laugh.
Then Charlotte entered wearing a designer dress, carrying a flashy bag, and showing off a ring every time she moved her hand. During dinner, she talked endlessly about her husband, Brandon.
“He is involved in real estate, manages huge projects, knows top investors, and lives between meetings and signing contracts,” Charlotte announced proudly. “I do not even work anymore because he says his wife does not have to worry about money.”
She went on to claim that they lived in a residence in Rancho Santa Fe, had a private driver, closed million-dollar deals, and that if Justin wanted, Brandon could easily get him a position at Shepherd Enterprises. Upon hearing that name, I put my fork down on the plate immediately.
“What is happening?” Samantha asked me with a curious look.
“Nothing yet,” I whispered back.
Something did not add up because Charlotte described the private residence where she lived, the garden in front of her house, and even a black SUV belonging to her husband. I knew that place too well, and I knew that truck too. At that moment, my cell phone vibrated with a message from my assistant.
“Ms. Abigail, Brandon is asking if he can come in two hours later tomorrow. After taking Mr. Douglas and Mrs. Miriam home today, he will pick up his wife from the meeting,” the message read.
I read it twice to make sure I was not mistaken. Brandon had been working as my parents’ driver for twelve years. I looked up and saw Charlotte ten meters away from me, still telling everyone that her husband was a powerful real estate businessman. She had just offered me a job using the contacts of the man who worked directly for my family.
PART 2
I did not say anything right away because if I got up then to tell everyone who I was, it would have seemed like a petty ego competition. I preferred to let the night continue naturally to see how far this would go.
Shortly afterwards, Charlotte’s phone rang on the table.
“He is my husband,” she announced loudly, turning on the speakerphone so everyone could hear.
“Honey, I have already dropped Mr. Douglas and Mrs. Miriam off at their house, so I will be there for you in about twenty minutes,” Brandon’s voice filled the table clearly.
“Of course, my love, please drive carefully,” she replied sweetly before hanging up.
“How thoughtful he is, even while working he is looking out for you,” Justin commented with admiration.
I would recognize that voice anywhere, and twenty minutes later we all went down to the lobby. A black SUV stopped in front of the hotel, and Brandon got out wearing a crisp white shirt and dark pants.
“I would like to introduce you to my husband,” Charlotte said, taking his arm proudly.
“It is a pleasure to meet the man of big projects,” Justin said, almost bowing down when he greeted him.
Brandon frowned, looking entirely confused by the greeting. Then his eyes caught mine, and his expression changed completely.
“Ms. Abigail…” Brandon stammered out.
“Do you two know each other?” Charlotte asked, turning towards me in surprise.
“We have known each other for years,” I answered first, before Brandon could expose the whole situation. He understood that I did not want to show off, so he remained silent. However, one of my former classmates named Zachary heard him call me “Ms. Abigail” and stared at me intently.
The next day, Charlotte wrote in the group chat because she wanted to invite us to dinner at her house to continue spending time together. The address she sent made me smile immediately. It was one of the corporate homes owned by Shepherd Enterprises, designated specifically for trusted employees with many years of service. Brandon legally occupied it as part of his employment benefits. It was nice, spacious, and located in a gated community near my parents’ house, but it certainly did not belong to him.
I accepted the invitation, and that afternoon Samantha, Zachary, Justin, and other classmates arrived at the location. Charlotte greeted us as if she were showing us a home from a luxury magazine cover.
“We chose this house for the peace and quiet, as Brandon wanted something discreet,” she explained graciously.
During dinner, Zachary began to ask direct questions about the property.
“How long ago did you buy here?” Zachary asked politely.
“A few years ago,” Charlotte replied without hesitation.
“And is Brandon still working on his big real estate projects?” Zachary continued.
“Of course, he is just about to start a massive project,” she claimed. Brandon lowered his gaze to his plate, looking extremely uncomfortable.
Before I could intervene, there was a loud knock at the front door. An administrative employee holding a thick clipboard was standing outside.
“Mr. Brandon, I need your signature on the monthly corporate housing maintenance report,” the employee stated clearly.
The silence in the room was immediate, but Charlotte quickly grabbed the papers.
“That is just what they call it here, it is merely a administrative formality,” she stammered. Zachary raised an eyebrow in skepticism. Five minutes later, the manager of the residential complex appeared at the door as well.
