“Reed Nicholas,” I say, extending my hand. “You must be Eliza’s mother.”
“Emma Storm.” Her grip is firm, assessing. “And yes, I’m Eliza’s mother, though she’s been keeping you quite the secret.” Her smile sharpens. “She said your father is Charles Nicholas?”
“Reed’s not—” Eliza starts, but Emma steamrolls right over her.
“I was just telling Eliza about an incredible business opportunity, and this is perfect timing. Would you like to hear about Diamond Elite Wellness Journey?”
I glance at Eliza, who’s gone pale and looks like she wants to disappear into the floorboards. There’s something familiar about her expression—the same trapped, diminished look I get when my father starts one of his lectures about my life choices.
“I’d be happy to listen,” I say carefully, not wanting anything to do with a woman who immediately associates me with my father.
Emma’s face lights up. “Wonderful! Let me get my materials.”
She bustles toward the coffee table, which is covered in glossy brochures and product samples. Eliza catches my arm.
“You don’t have to…”
“It’s fine,” I murmur. “I’ve got this.” Eliza’s eyes are wet, like she’s near tears, and I squeeze her arm, trying to convey that I’m here for her, that I’m on to her mother’s act. Only when I smile and tug her hand does she agree to join me on the sofa.
For the next ten minutes, Emma delivers what I recognize as a scripted presentation about supplements, financial freedom, and “being your own boss.” She uses terms like “ground floor opportunity” and “exponential growth potential” while showing me income charts that would make any scientist cringe.
I take frantic mental notes on what not to do in my pitch in a few days, though something tells me I could appear more genuine than this without much effort.
“So,” Emma concludes with a dazzling smile, “are you ready to join the Diamond Elite family?”
“It sounds interesting,” I say diplomatically. “But I’d need to see some additional information first.”
“Of course! What would you like to know?”
“Could you provide documentation of the company’s compensation structure? Specifically, what percentage of distributors achieve the income levels shown in these charts?”
Emma’s smile falters. “Well, individual results vary, but the potential is unlimited for people willing to work hard.”
“I understand, but I need actual data. Success rates, average earnings, that sort of thing.” I keep my tone pleasant but persistent, thinking of the specific data points I’m being asked to present on Friday. “I actually have a PhD in biochemistry, so I’m curious about the scientific evidence supporting your product claims as well.”
“Evidence?” Emma looks like I’ve asked her to perform surgery.
“Yes. Clinical trials, peer-reviewed studies, FDA approvals… The usual documentation for health products.”
Eliza is staring at me with amazement, and I realize this might be the first time anyone has pushed against her mother’s whims.
“I… I’d have to get back to you on the specifics,” Emma says, her confidence shaken.
“Take your time.” I smile. “I never make business decisions without thorough research.”
Emma forces a laugh. “You sound just like your father in his speeches.”
The comment hits its intended mark, but not in the way she expects. Instead of feeling insulted, I feel a surge of protectiveness for Eliza, who’s been dealing with this manipulation her entire life.
“Actually, my father and I disagree on most things,” I say. “Including what constitutes sound business practices.”
Emma stares at me for a moment, recalibrating. “Well. I should make some phone calls about those… documents you requested.” She gathers her materials with slightly less confidence. “Excuse me.”
She disappears upstairs, leaving Eliza and me alone in the suddenly quiet living room.
“Jesus,” Eliza breathes. “That was…”
“Familiar?”
