Page 11 of Envy
CHAPTER FOUR
THE PRESENT
There’s something to be said for hustling and busting my ass eighty plus hours a week for the past ten years. Popping the cork on this champagne bottle in my hand to celebrate opening my own business while standing in front of my ten cheering employees is the next step in my plan.
I gave the name of my company a lot of thought.
Montague Elite Holdings, MLP.
It’s fitting.
“Congratulations, Megan! This is so exciting!”
“I’m ready to get to work and make history!”
“Is there cake?”
Laughter fills the room, and the excitement level is off the charts. We deserve to celebrate—this is a major feat in the business world today. Our office space is in a premier location on Fifth Avenue in New York City. Three thousand square feet of elegant accommodations and furnishings that whisper wealth and privilege. I’m more than thrilled with the success I’ve already achieved, and I can’t wait to see what this team can accomplish in the future.
But my personal plans are more immediate.
Christine wraps her arm around my shoulder and squeezes as she takes a glass of bubbly and passes it to Jayce. “You should be very proud. I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as you have and not once back down during challenging times. I’m honored to call you my best friend.”
“Thank you, Christine.” I affectionately rub her protruding belly. “And thank you for being my little luck charm over the last seven months.”
Christine smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in her eyes directed at me. “I want you to be happy, Megan. All you do is work.”
“Work makes me happy, Chris. Don’t worry about me.”
Mom joins us on my other side. With a deep, steadying breath, she looks around the room before meeting my gaze. “Your father would’ve been so proud to see this, Megan. He loved you so very much.”
“I know. I wish he were here with us. We lost him way too early.”
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad on your opening day. I meant it as a compliment.”
“You didn’t make me sad, Mom. He’s been in my thoughts every day from the moment I started planning this.” She’s hurting too, so I pull her into my arms to reassure her. “He knows, Mom. He’s watching us and smiling.”
After we finish the cake and bubbly, my team disperses to their cubicles. Mom, Christine, and Jayce head back to the hotel. And I settle into my office, power up my computer, and continue the task I started nearly ten years ago when I arrived at Harvard. I check the stock price of Weston Commercial Development, Inc. and buy more Class A shares under each of my other company names as well as my own name.
One step closer to my goal.
My decision to major in Economics at Harvard was the smartest decision I’ve ever made. I learned not only about how economies work and how to make the stock market work for me, but also the psychology behind different economic practices. What drives the wealthy and privileged to reach for more and more money and power. How socioeconomic changes affect every different class of citizen.
My rags-to-hopeful-riches story resonated with the successful stock brokers I worked alongside, and several took me under their wings along the way. They guided me, coached me, and made me look at investments in an entirely different light. They shared everyday practices I would’ve never known about otherwise—steps to amassing my own wealth. On my terms. By my hand.
Then I took what I’d learned from books and brokers, and I applied that knowledge to my situation. The steps I took to correct my way of thinking opened new doors for me, doors I never would’ve found had I thrown away a full scholarship for some stupid boy who made me think he loved me as much as I loved him.
I also learned a lot about myself while studying the psychology behind economics. Though I always denied it, even to myself, the hatred I felt toward the elite group was, in fact, envy. Well, except for Blair. That hatred was all too real. But I realized I wanted their way of life. I wanted how easy everything came to them, how they could do whatever they wanted, and no one dared to question them, and how they had no regrets over how they used and abused others on their climb to the top.
Envy ate me alive because I wanted to be accepted and included. I wanted to feel like I was good enough for them.
Wyatt broke that vicious cycle in me, though.
One newspaper article I found while researching a college paper asked where the corporate raiders of the 80s had gone. I’m poised and ready to answer that question for them now.
Wyatt Weston took over his father’s company about four years ago while I worked as a stock broker on Wall Street. I followed his trail religiously, combing the Internet for any information I could garner about his status—personal and professional. Every minor detail I could find helped build my arsenal against him. His penchant for Facebook updates had shifted from personal to strictly business information, but that was all right with me. I took every scrap of data he shared and filed it away, putting the pieces together and estimating his next move.
The years I’d spent learning from Wall Street’s best helped position me to open my own company. Today is the official grand opening, but I’ve prepared for this day for years. Instead of opening in the red like most start-ups, my company is already well in the black and owns several other businesses that are top performers in their fields. The best thing about holding companies is we don’t make anything. Investments in other companies pay off—and I capitalize on their achievements.
