“Wow,” I exhaled, still reeling.
“She’s been a force,” my mother said warmly, “And she’s been singing your praises nonstop since you got involved this year.” She nudged me, and heat crept up my neck.
“I really do love this work,” I admitted softly, “I want to do so much more.”
“You will,” she said with quiet certainty.
When the room began to settle, I made my way to Henrietta. “I’m shocked to the core,” I confessed, “but so happy for you. No one will ever live up to your legacy.”
Her smile turned sly as she squeezed my shoulder. “Oh, I think someone will.” Her brow lifted ever so slightly, as though she knew more than she was saying. “I’ve had a cottage in the south of France for years with hardly any time to enjoy it. I look forward to days spent living slowly.”
“That sounds magical,” I said, meaning it.
“Alright everyone, if we can continue with our next order of business,” my father said, his voice steady, and just like that, the room shifted back to order. Papers rustled, pens tapped. I sank into my chair, still reeling from Henrietta’s announcement.
The meeting moved forward without pause, discussion swirling around new strategies and marketing initiatives. I forced myself to listen, to nod, to add a comment or two when the chance arose, but in the back of my mind all I could hear was Henrietta’s calm, deliberate words. Stepping down. Effective immediately. Who would fill her shoes?
“Nicola has prepared a proposal for a new fundraising structure and update on the end-of-year event,” my father announced suddenly, and all eyes turned toward me. His hand gestured with quiet pride, and I felt my nerves skitter up like static. My pulse jumped in my throat as I plugged in my computer, fingers trembling slightly on the keys.
This was fine.I was ready, I knew my presentation by heart.
“Hi everyone,” I began, pasting on a smile as my slides lit up the screen. “This past week at the Las Vegas Grand Prix, we tripled donations in one race weekend by teaming up with local charities. With the overwhelming success and positive feedback we’ve received, I’m proposing we expand this model to every race on the calendar.”
My words were practiced and smooth as I clicked through graphs, numbers glowing across the screen. “As you can see, marketing graphics on the track were a major investment that paid off in dividends. We also ran fan polls to vote on which local charities would be supported, which generated incredible engagement.”
Keep it steady,I told myself,They’re nodding. They’re interested. Just breathe.
The presentation moved to the gala. My voice strengthened when I revealed, “This year, our end-of-year gala will not only celebrate the season and the teams, but will also be officially sponsored by Formula One.”
Gasps rippled through the room, followed by applause. I couldn’t help the rush of pride that swelled in my chest. That official seal of approval had taken weeks of negotiating, and now it was real.
When I finished, voices chimed in from every corner of the table.
“These numbers are incredible,” Lance said.
“We should add more animal shelters into the mix,” another suggested.
“There’s a team in London that funds women’s shelters, worth considering,” a younger woman added. My mother smiled and seconded the idea, her eyes warm as she looked at me.
I scribbled notes, my chest buzzing with gratitude. I felt like I wasn’t just filling a seat at this table—I was part of it.
And then Henrietta’s voice rang out again, calm but carrying weight. “Thank you again, everyone, for your time today. I would like to end this meeting with a vote for the new Chair. I would like to formally nominate Nicola Moretti.”
The air left my lungs.
My heart stopped.
Did she just say my name?
My pulse thundered in my ears as my father’s voice followed. “Do we have any other nominations for chair?” He scanned the room. No one spoke. No one raised a hand. Heads shook.
This can’t be real. Me? Chairwoman? I only just stepped into this role, and now—now they wanted me to lead it?
“Do you accept this nomination, Nicola?” My father’s eyes were steady on mine.
I snapped my head toward him. My throat went dry. Chairwoman of the Moretti Foundation. The words echoed in my skull like a drumbeat. This was everything I wanted—to change lives, to build something lasting, to make an impact—but to be handed it now, so suddenly…
My legs felt unsteady under the table. My hands shook where they rested on the binder in front of me. But when I opened my mouth, my voice came out steady, clear. “Yes. I would be honored.”
