Chapter 1: Arrivals and Old Wounds

I parked my Malibu between a Tesla and an Escalade, the engine coughing out one last protest. The faded steering wheel was slick under my damp palms. Already, high-end SUVs and luxury sedans—BMWs, a couple of Teslas, a brand-new Escalade—crowded the lot, making my car look even shabbier. I straightened my blazer, took a breath, and stepped onto the cracked asphalt, the sticky summer air pressing close.

A few classmates clustered by the hotel’s double doors, laughing too loudly, vape pens and craft beers in hand. The neon hotel sign flickered, casting strange shadows on faces that looked both familiar and weirdly older. Some I recognized instantly; others required a squint and a search through yearbook memories.

Before I could even lock my car, Brian Sanders—the class president—swaggered over, keys to a Rolls-Royce dangling from his fingers. “Well, if it isn’t our valedictorian! Ten years out and still rolling up in that clunker? No wonder your boss keeps you invisible.”

Brian had always been the center of attention, but seeing him climb out of a Rolls was a whole new level. His aviators perched on his head, he looked me up and down, grinning like he’d just watched a tragic sitcom. His voice carried, drawing a small crowd. I forced a smile, tried to play it off, but his words cut deeper than I’d ever admit.