“Terrance,” said Brewster, his cheeks flushed as he lifted his glass, “now that you’ve settled into your new home, you must be thinking about where to place Detour Inc.’s new headquarters. With you leading, the company is certain to reach greater heights. Let’s all raise a glass to the Chairman, for his tireless dedication to Detour Inc.!”

“Yes, yes! To the Chairman!” Michael and Drake joined in quickly, grinning broadly as they clinked glasses. “Without your leadership, who knows where Detour Inc. would be? We all feel safe following your lead!”

“Absolutely,” Drake added, his voice carrying weight. “A company as large and intricate as Detour Inc. could never be managed by an outsider. Without your decisive moves strengthening the business, grabbing real estate opportunities, and your wife’s success with ‘Elegance’ — we wouldn’t be where we are today. You are this company’s foundation. Under you, Detour Inc. will only grow stronger.”

The praise passed around the table like an unbroken chain, each man layering on more admiration. Their words painted Terrance as the company’s rightful master, as though it had always been his, rather than a legacy from Rylie’s parents.

Terrance accepted it all with an easy smile, his eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. He lifted a hand in feigned modesty. “This is the fruit of everyone’s hard work. I couldn’t have done it without your constant support. Detour Inc. belongs to all of us, and I’ll always count on your loyalty.”

Their laughter filled the room again, talk spilling into bright visions of the future. Still, now and then, their eyes slid toward Rylie, who continued eating quietly. Each glance carried a clear message — she was little more than decoration at this table.

From her seat, Paola observed the scene, a private satisfaction blooming at Rylie’s exclusion from the inner circle.

But her pleasure didn’t last long. The sharp clatter of Rylie’s silverware hitting the porcelain plate sliced through the conversation.

The chatter faltered. One by one, heads turned toward her, their faces wearing a blend of annoyance and deeper scorn.

All eyes followed Rylie as she reached for a napkin and dabbed her lips.

“Rylie, is the food not to your taste?” Paola asked. Her voice held a veneer of concern, but the faint curl at the corner of her mouth betrayed a quiet satisfaction.

Before Rylie could respond, an executive’s voice cut in — loud enough to carry, yet measured as if meant to sting without being called out. “Clattering silverware like that — hardly fitting for someone in your position.”

The barb landed with precision, meant to wound her over her upbringing. Rylie set the napkin down without haste. No flicker of shame crossed her face — only a steady calm that edged toward cold.

Her gaze swept past the man and came to rest on Terrance, whose expression shifted almost imperceptibly. When she spoke, her tone was clear and cutting. “Did I remember it incorrectly?” She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as they locked on him. “Haven’t you always served as the interim director of Detour Inc., not its legal representative? Which means you’re just a professional manager — while I remain the sole legal heir.”

She let the statement settle, then swept her eyes over the table. Several executives’ faces had already shifted, their discomfort plain. “And from what I’ve gathered tonight,” she continued, “some of you have confused the role of an agent with that of a master — claiming positions that were never yours.”

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