Page 69 of The Truth of Us

“It is.”

My voice cracked slightly when I said, “Harper Lane can walk into rooms and manage everyone else’s story. She can be polished and careful, and temporary. She can leave before anyone asks too much. Harper Montgomery comes with publicized grief, headlines, history, and expectations that feel like a hand around my throat.”

My father didn’t argue; he just listened, so I kept going.

“I don’t know how to be her without becoming someone people want to use.”

His eyes darkened. But it wasn’t anger at me, it was at the world, his family, at every person who saw his family and thought we were leverage.

“Then we build something they cannot use,” he said.

I laughed softly. “How?”

“Together.”

My chest ached.

He leaned forward slightly. “The foundation needs you. Not because of your name. Because of your mind, how you understand people, because you understand what a story can do when it is weaponized, and what it can do when it is used to protect. And you are so much more than the small box you've put yourself in.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m good at PR.”

“You are excellent at it,” he agreed.

“This would be different.” I whispered.

“Yes.”

“More personal.”

“Yes.”

“Scarier.”

His smile was sad. “Yes.”

I sat back in my chair and looked toward the window. Snow fell thick and steady, blurring the dark edges of the world. I thought about Elliot accusing me of looking for a sugar daddy, the way he saw my clothes, the bags, the townhouse, and built a version of me that made it easier to hurt me. I thought about how much of myself I had hidden because I was afraid of being reduced to my last name, and how he had still found a way to reduce me without ever knowing it. Maybe my father was right. Maybe hiding had become heavier than being seen.

He continued adding, “You are not the little girl wracked with grief, and I am not the man desperate to hide you from the world because I couldn’t breathe when I thought of someone getting to you too. You have become an incredible woman, Harper, and I need to help you shine instead of letting my fear keep you hidden.”

I took a sip of my wine and then looked up at my dad.

“I don’t want to be announced like some society princess.”

My father’s mouth twitched. “Okay.”

“And I’m not doing galas where old men congratulate themselves for writing checks.”

“You may have to do some of those.” He chuckled.

I took another sip of wine. It was warm. He was right to invest. We were right to invest.

“Maybe we start with the charitable division,” I said carefully.

My father’s eyes sharpened. Not in surprise, but in interest. The chairman appearing beneath the father.

“Montgomery International Foundation has reach, but it lacks intimacy. It needs a stronger public identity. Less polished generosity. More human impact. More direct storytelling. Scholarships, enhanced literacy programs, trauma recovery support, privacy advocacy, maybe even media responsibility initiatives.”

His face changed subtly, but I saw it.