Chapter 7: Fish in the Sea
2381words
Below the stage, Richard and Victoria sat in the front row, their faces bearing proud smiles. For four years, they had witnessed my every achievement: top GPA in the class, student council president, business case competition champion, and countless social activities and network building. To outsiders, I was Richard Branford's most successful investment, a Cinderella legend who had walked out of an orphanage.
But only I knew what I had truly learned in these four years.
In my first year of college, I understood Richard's expectations of me. He didn't just want an excellent student; he wanted a "work of art" who could fully integrate into high society. So I learned how to discuss art with wealthy ladies at charity galas, how to establish connections with CEOs on golf courses, and how to display just the right amount of wisdom in private clubs without appearing threatening.
I became a perfect product.
"Emma, congratulations." After the ceremony, Richard came to my side, his eyes flickering with an emotion I had learned to read, "If Elaine could see you today, she would be so proud of you."
"Thank you, Mr. Richard." My voice was gentle and grateful, just like that girl who first arrived at the Branford home four years ago, "Without your support, I could never have achieved this."
This is not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Yes, Richard gave me an opportunity, but I seized that opportunity in my own way and turned it into something more.
During college, I wasn't just learning about business; I was learning how to become the person Richard truly needed. I discovered the deep loneliness within him—after losing his wife, he projected all his emotions into "nurturing" me. I made myself become the missing part of him: intelligent yet compliant, ambitious yet dependent on his guidance, independent enough to make him proud, yet vulnerable enough to make him feel needed.
After graduation, I was completely immersed in the sweetness of success. Richard arranged for me to enter Branford Investment Company, starting as a junior analyst, but my role was special from the beginning. I wasn't just an employee; I was more like the successor Richard was grooming, his successful creation that he showcased to the outside world.
"Emma is truly a miracle." At various social occasions, I would often hear similar remarks, "From an orphanage to Columbia, and now into the heart of Wall Street. Richard, you've cultivated a real masterpiece."
"She has talent." Richard would always reply, with obvious satisfaction in his tone, "But more importantly, she has character."
Character. Every time I heard this word, a complex feeling would flash through my heart, but I had learned to keep it buried inside.
During that brief but wonderful time, I truly believed that I was the protagonist of this inspirational story. I attended various high-end gatherings, met Wall Street elites, and took on increasingly important work.
Just two months into the job, the Wall Street Journal did a special feature on me: "From Orphanage to Wall Street: The Birth of a New Generation Elite." That article published my photo—wearing a tailored suit, standing in front of the Manhattan skyline, smiling confidently and professionally.
The night the article was published, Richard invited me to dinner at his private club. It was a place open only to the most elite, with a membership list that included former presidents, Supreme Court justices, and Wall Street's most influential figures.
"You know, Emma," Richard said as he cut his steak, "when I first decided to help you, I thought I was just giving a talented young woman a chance. But now I realize that perhaps you gave me a chance."
"What chance?" I asked, my heart racing with anticipation of the answer.
"The chance to redefine legacy." His gaze deepened, "You know, the Branford family has lasted for three generations, but with me... Victoria and I have no children. I've been wondering, when I'm old, who will inherit all of this? Now I know."
At that moment, I felt an unprecedented sense of achievement. Four years ago, I was still a homeless orphan, and now, I was being considered as the heir to one of Wall Street's oldest investment firms. This exceeded my wildest dreams.
"Mr. Richard," my voice trembled slightly, "I don't know what to say."
"You don't need to say anything." He placed his hand over mine, "Just continue being yourself, that's enough."
Being myself. At that time, I completely believed that I was standing there solely because of my genuine abilities and character.
I moved to a luxury apartment in Midtown Manhattan, attended the most elite social events, and met countless powerful people. I felt like I had truly become a member of this circle, a successful person who had earned respect through my own efforts and talents.
But this illusion didn't last long.
The true awakening happened one night during my third month of work. It was the Wall Street annual charity auction, held at Manhattan's most luxurious hotel. At gatherings of this caliber, all attendees were genuine power players—bankers, politicians, Supreme Court justices, CEOs of multinational corporations. I attended with Richard, full of enthusiasm, believing I had already become a member of this circle.
When we walked into the ballroom, the entire room seemed to tilt toward Richard.
"Richard!" Mark Dawson, CEO of an oil company, was the first to approach, "I heard your ESG department landed another major client?"
"Mr. Richard," James Webster, former chairman of the Federal Reserve, also joined the conversation, "Congratulations on Branford Investment making the Forbes list again."
One after another, important figures gathered around, enthusiastically shaking hands, embracing, and conversing with Richard. These people controlled trillions of dollars in assets, influenced the direction of national policies, and determined the fate of countless companies.
And I stood beside Richard, like an exquisite decoration.
"Richard, this is..." Webster glanced at me, his voice carrying a polite inquiry.
"Emma Modest, the head of my ESG department," Richard introduced.
"Ah, the girl from the orphanage," Dawson nodded. "Truly an inspirational story."
An inspirational story. Just like that.
In the next two hours, I observed the subtle changes in these conversations. When these powerful figures spoke with Richard, their gaze was focused, their body language respectful, their voices serious. They discussed market trends, shared insider information, and even invited him to join some private investment opportunities.
And when they turned to me, their eyes became hollow, their smiles formulaic, their conversation confined to surface-level pleasantries. They praised my "achievements," but no one asked about my investment strategies. They complimented my "courage," but no one invited me to join their core discussions.
I began to understand.
In their eyes, I wasn't Emma Modest, the investment expert managing a billion-dollar portfolio. I was "Richard's charity project," "the orphan girl's inspirational story," a perfect case study demonstrating Branford Investment's social responsibility.
I was a symbol, not a person.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer's voice rang out, "now we begin tonight's charity auction..."
During the auction process, I noticed more details. When Richard raised his paddle to bid on a painting, people around immediately took notice, some calculating his bidding strategy, others speculating about his financial situation. But when I raised my paddle, people just smiled and nodded, as if watching an obedient student performing in front of a teacher.
Even the behavior of the waiters revealed everything. They actively replaced Richard's wine glasses and promptly served him refreshments, while my needs would only be addressed if I actively signaled for attention.
This difference was so subtle, so natural, that if I hadn't been deliberately observing, I might never have noticed it.
"Emma, what do you think of that Monet?" Richard whispered in my ear.
"Beautiful," I answered, but my attention was no longer on the artwork.
I began to understand my true role in this room. I wasn't here to establish business relationships; I was here to prove that Richard Branford was a visionary, socially responsible leader. My presence testified to his charitable heart, my success validated his judgment, and my loyalty demonstrated his leadership abilities.
I was his creation, his exhibit, part of his success story.
And the most ironic part was that everything was packaged so perfectly that even I had once believed I was standing here on merit alone.
After the auction ended, the crowd began to disperse. Richard was pulled aside by several important clients for private conversations, while I was politely excluded.
I felt a sense of suffocation and needed to think alone. I quietly slipped out of the ballroom and made my way to the rooftop terrace of the hotel.
The night breeze was cool but refreshing. Manhattan's myriad lights twinkled beneath my feet like an enormous circuit board. In this quiet space, I could finally confront those details I had observed earlier.
I am indeed defined by my story—the orphanage, the struggle, the success. This label has given me opportunities, but it has also completely limited me. In the eyes of these powerful people, I will never be just Emma Modest; I will always be "that girl who came from the orphanage."
Perhaps these are the rules of the game. I can choose to hate these rules, or I can choose to learn to use them to my advantage.
I stand alone on the terrace, looking down at this sleepless city. Beneath my feet, countless lights represent countless stories, countless ambitions, countless dreams and despair.
I think about the path I've traveled: from that desperate girl at St. Anthony's Children's Home, to the honors student at Columbia University, to now an investment specialist managing billions of dollars in assets. Every step along this path, I thought I was directing my own destiny.
But now I understand, I have been walking according to a script designed by others. Richard needed a perfect charity success story, and I was that case. My struggle story added a human touch to his brand, my professional abilities proved his investment vision, my loyalty demonstrated his leadership charisma.
I am not the protagonist of this story, I am a supporting character. An important, indispensable, but ultimately supporting character.
This realization didn't make me angry, but instead gave me a strange sense of relief.
Because now I finally see the truth clearly. Not the beautified version I've been telling myself, but the complete, cruel, yet authentic truth.
Richard did help me, but he also used me. I do have ability, but my ability was never the only reason I was chosen. I did succeed, but this success was built upon a carefully constructed narrative.
And now, I need to decide how to use this truth.
I could choose anger, choose rebellion, choose to expose all this hypocrisy. But that would only destroy everything I've built, and it wouldn't change the rules of the game.
Or, I could choose to accept this reality, and then maximize my own interests within this framework.
The night breeze swept across my face, carrying away the last traces of fairy tale fantasy. When I turned back to face the lights of the ballroom, I knew I was no longer the same person who had walked in.
I was still Emma Modest, still managing a billion dollars in assets, still living in a Manhattan penthouse. But now I knew what all of this meant, and my true position in this complex game.
I am a tool, but I am a self-aware tool. I am a symbol, but I am a symbol capable of defining my own meaning. I am a supporting character, but I can maximize my influence and benefits within the framework of this supporting role.
More importantly, I now understand the true rules of this game. Not the surface rules about abilities and achievements, but the deeper rules about values, image, and mutually beneficial relationships.
Understanding these rules, I can play this game better.
I gently touched the pearl necklace around my neck, remembering what Michael once said: "This world is more complex than you imagine." Now I truly understand the meaning of these words.
This world is indeed complex, filled with using and being used, manipulating and being manipulated. But that doesn't mean there are no opportunities, no space for smart people to create a better future for themselves.
I smiled, and it was a completely new smile. Not the perfect smile performed for others, nor the sweet smile of a naive girl, but the smile of a player who truly understands the rules of the game.
Starting tomorrow, I will play this game differently. I will still be the head of Richard's ESG department, still be that inspirational orphanage girl, still be Branford Investment's success story.
But I can do more. I will build my own network, develop my own resources, and create my own opportunities. Within this given framework, I will maximize my own benefits and influence.
I will become an indispensable part of this story, important enough that no one dares ignore my voice.
I took one last look at the city below, then turned and walked back to the banquet hall. Richard was saying goodbye to several clients, and when he saw me, he showed his familiar smile.
"Emma, ready to go home?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered, "tonight was very fruitful."
This wasn't a lie. Tonight was indeed fruitful, just not in the way he thought.
On the way home, Richard shared some business insights from the evening, while I politely listened. But my thoughts were already flying toward the future—a future that I would write in a completely new way.
I am Emma Modest, a former orphan, now a Wall Street elite. I know my place in this grand game, I accept this position, but I will also redefine the meaning of this position.
After all, the story is just beginning.
