“Mrs. CEO is calling an emergency pre-board meeting tomorrow at 700 a.m. All department heads must attend.”

Olivia’s fork clattered against her plate.

“What? But tomorrow’s Christmas.”

“She doesn’t care,” Mr. Townsen replied weekly. “She’s reviewing all recent operational changes. Olivia, bring your restructuring reports.”

Now seemed like the perfect moment.

I cleared my throat softly.

“Mr. Townsend.”

He looked up, seemingly surprised to hear my voice from the far end of the table.

“Yes.”

“The meeting’s actually at 8:00 a.m., not 7, and Olivia won’t need her reports. I’ve already reviewed them.”

The room went silent.

Olivia let out a nervous laugh.

“What are you talking about? You don’t even work for Summit.”

I stood up slowly, smoothing my simple sweater.

“Actually, I do. In fact, I am Summit.”

I turned to Mr. Townsend.

“Those reports you’ve been trying to get to me, I received them last week. We should discuss the Q4 projections. They’re off by about 30 million.”

Mr. Townsend’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“You’re Catherine Wilson, CEO of Summit Enterprises?”

“Yes.” I smiled, enjoying the way Olivia’s face had drained of all color. “Though most people just call me Mrs. CEO.”

Mom’s wine glass slipped from her fingers, spilling red across the white tablecloth.

No one moved to clean it up.

“This is a joke,” Olivia whispered. “It has to be.”

I pulled out my phone, projecting my company ID onto the dining room wall.

There it was in high definition.

My photo, my title, my company.

“No joke, Liv. While you were climbing the corporate ladder, I built the building.”

“But but you’re a teacher,” Mom stammered.

“I teach one class per semester at the community college,” I corrected her. “Because I believe in education and giving back. The rest of my time is spent running one of the largest private equity firms in the world.”

Olivia pushed back from the table, her chair scraping against the floor.

“You can’t be. You live in a tiny apartment. You drive a Honda.”

“I own the building where my tiny apartment is located. As for the Honda,” I shrugged. “It’s good for the environment, unlike your Mercedes, which by the way, you probably shouldn’t have charged to the company account.”

Mr. Dr. Townsend had sunk into his chair, no doubt remembering every condescending comment he’d made in meetings about the mysterious CEO.

“The garage,” he muttered. “We made you sleep in the garage.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “You did. All of you were so busy judging me by appearances that you never bothered to look deeper.”

I turned to Olivia.

“Remember last month when you denied Sarah in accounting time off for her son’s surgery?”