The way I treated him.
The photo montage ended, and the CEO took the podium. I was on in two minutes.
I looked back and forth between my openmouthed parents, shaking my head. “Mom, I really hope you find your voice. I know it’s in there. For your own sake, I hope to God you look for it.”
I turned to my father.
“Dad, you are going to be a very lonely old man. Your world is about to be as small as your mind. You won’t have your children. You won’t get the privilege of knowing the people they love. You won’t hold your grandchildren, you won’t see them grow up.” I shook my head. “But at least you’ll have Neil.”
I turned and started for the stage. Then I stopped and looked back at them. “Also, you should know that effective tomorrow I’ve resigned from my position as chief.”
Mom’s face fell, and Dad went bright red.
“Do me a favor and let Neil know the house is his. I’ll be moved out by the end of the week. I’ll go ahead and disown myself to save you the trouble. Now excuse me. I have to go deliver a speech.”
I picked up the skirt of my dress, made my way through the tables, and climbed the stage just as I was being introduced.
I took the podium to clapping, two large jumbotrons floating behind me. I thanked the CEO and adjusted my microphone as I looked out over the audience.
Even though my speech wasn’t the one I’d practiced for months under Mom’s tutelage, I didn’t need a teleprompter or notes. I was ready. I felt completely and utterly calm. Like I was born to do this—and really, I was.
Dad never expected me to amount to much. And for a time, neither did I. My entire life, Dad made me feel like I was the weakest link, the most useless princess. A waste of my family’s DNA.
But today I was a Montgomery.
It pulsed through my veins, poured out of me. It felt like I was the final form of everything my bloodline aspired to be. I was better at being a Montgomery than even Derek was—because I’d finally found the calling that anchored me to my birthright. It put fire in me. Gave me the tireless drive and razor-sharp focus of someone who believed in something.
And I couldn’t wait to get started.
I scanned the crowd one more time for Bri and Daniel—and I saw that Bri had appeared at the back of the room. She waved and gave me a thumbs-up.
Was it a good-luck thumbs-up? Or a I-got-hold-of-Daniel thumbs-up? He wasn’t with her…
I looked around the faces one more time, but I didn’t see him. And I couldn’t wait any longer to begin. So I did.
“Thank you for joining us on this historic milestone in Royaume Northwestern history.” My voice was steady and confident. “On this day in 1897, the doors opened for the first time, and my great-great-great-grandfather Dr. Charles Edward Montgomery began his rounds. Today, a hundred and twenty-five years later, I am continuing a legacy that my family is unbelievably proud of, walking the halls of what’s become one of the finest hospitals in the world.
“With your generous donations, we’ve pioneered medical breakthroughs, established ourselves as one of the leading research and training hospitals on the globe, and we’ve saved countless lives. Royaume is home to some of the best doctors ever to practice medicine. We are a destination for unparalleled talent, and we lead our industry in medical advancements. It is on the strength of this foundation that we are thrilled to announce to you tonight the new direction of the Montgomery Legacy and my family’s relationship with Royaume Northwestern.”
This was the moment my mother realized I was off script.
I watched her face register the last line, and she leaned over and said something hurried to my father.
“As you may know,” I said, continuing, “I am the chief of emergency medicine here at Royaume. And if there’s anything I’ve learned in my role, it’s that in most cases, emergencies wouldn’t be emergencies if patients had access to affordable routine medical care.
“Cost-prohibitive treatments cost lives.
“I have seen untreated cuts turn into sepsis. Sinus infections become pneumonia because a patient can’t afford a simple doctor visit for antibiotics. I’ve had diabetic patients lose limbs because they’re rationing insulin, stage-four terminal cancer that could have been detected earlier and treated with access to proper yearly screenings.” I paused for effect and gave the audience an arched eyebrow. “I have seen patients stitch themselves up with gin and fishhooks because they can’t afford a trip to the ER.”