Chapter 302

Chapter 302
Calloway

I gave him the sanitized version of my story—family circumstances had changed, I was looking for a fresh start, believed in the value of honest work. He nodded along, asking smart questions about how I'd handle specific workplace scenarios.

I was in the middle of describing my approach to team motivation when Patterson's assistant, a sharp-faced woman in her forties, sidled up to whisper something urgently in his ear. I caught fragments: "...that name..." "...Boston scandal..." "...Montgomery family..."

Patterson's entire demeanor changed in an instant. His friendly expression hardened, and he looked at me with new eyes—the kind of look that suggested he was seeing something unpleasant that had been hidden.

"Montgomery," he said slowly, as if tasting something bitter. "Calloway Montgomery."

The recognition hit him like a lightning bolt, and I watched my future evaporate in real time.

"Well, I'll be damned," Patterson said, his voice taking on a tone of amused disbelief. "You're that Montgomery boy, aren't you? The one who used to raise hell all over Boston, throwing money around and acting like he owned the world?"

My stomach dropped through the floor. Sarah looked confused, glancing between Patterson and me with growing concern.

"Jenny here just reminded me," Patterson continued, gesturing to his assistant with obvious satisfaction. "We used to read about your antics in the business journals. Calloway Montgomery, the spoiled brat heir who treated people like garbage because Daddy had deep pockets."

"Mr. Patterson," I began, my voice steady despite the panic rising in my chest, "that was a different person. I've changed—"

"Oh, I'm sure you have," Patterson laughed, but there was no humor in it—only the cruel satisfaction of a man who'd found an opportunity to even old scores. "Funny how people 'change' when the money runs out, isn't it? Tell me, son, what happened? Daddy finally cut you off? Family fortune disappear?"

The words were like physical blows. I could feel Sarah's embarrassment radiating from beside me, watching her promising candidate transform into something shameful.

"You know what I think?" Patterson leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself now. "I think you're exactly the same entitled little shit you always were, just desperate enough now to pretend otherwise. You think you can just walk in here, put on a nice shirt, and charm your way into a good job?"

"That's not—" I started, but he cut me off with a dismissive wave.

"Save it," Patterson said, his voice loud enough that people at nearby tables were starting to stare. "I've seen your type before. Rich boys who think the world owes them something. Well, let me tell you something, Calloway Montgomery—in the real world, reputation matters. And your reputation is that of a worthless parasite who never worked an honest day in his life."

Each word was carefully chosen to inflict maximum damage, and Patterson was clearly savoring every moment.

"Mr. Patterson," Sarah interjected, her voice tight with discomfort, "perhaps we should—"

"Sarah, let me save you some time," Patterson interrupted, standing up now, playing to his growing audience. "This man will never work for my company. Not today, not ever. I don't care how desperate he is or how pretty his reformation story sounds. Some people don't deserve second chances."

He looked around at the other job seekers who'd stopped to watch the spectacle. "You see, folks, this is what happens when entitled rich kids think they can just reinvent themselves when convenient. The leopard doesn't change its spots—it just gets better at hiding them."

The humiliation was complete. I sat there, speechless, as Patterson walked away, already telling someone at the next table about the "trust fund baby pretending to be reformed."

Sarah looked mortified. "Mr. Montgomery, I am so sorry. What just happened was completely unprofessional. If what he said is true about your past, I can understand his concerns, but the way he just treated you..."

"He's not wrong about who I used to be," I said quietly, my voice sounding hollow even to me.

"But people can change," she said softly. "You seem like a genuinely different person from whoever you were before."

I wanted to believe her, but as I walked out of the community center past tables full of opportunities I'd never be able to access, Patterson's words echoed in my head. Some people don't deserve second chances.

Hannah was waiting by the window when I pulled into our driveway, her wheelchair positioned so she could watch for my return. The hope in her face when she saw me walking toward the cottage made my failure feel even heavier.

"How did it go?" she asked immediately, searching my expression for clues.

"Not well," I said simply, then told her everything. About Sarah's enthusiasm, about Patterson's recognition, about the public humiliation that followed.

Hannah listened without interrupting, her hand finding mine when I finished. "I'm sorry, Calloway. That was cruel and unfair."

"But not wrong," I said. "He wasn't wrong about who I used to be."

"Who you used to be isn't who you are now," she said firmly. "I see who you are every day. The man who drives two hours for my physical therapy appointments. Who works three jobs to keep us afloat. Who never makes me feel like a burden even when I know I am."

"You're not—"

"I am, and that's okay," she said gently. "What matters is that you stay anyway. That you choose this life, choose me, every single day. That's not the spoiled rich boy Patterson described."

I was about to respond when there was a knock at the door. A delivery truck was pulling away from our cottage.

"Package for Calloway Montgomery," I called out, reading the label. The return address was from an upscale Boston district, but no name was listed.

Inside the cottage, I carefully opened the box while Hannah watched with curious concern. The first item I lifted out made me gasp audibly. A Patek Philippe Nautilus watch—the kind of timepiece that cost more than most people earned in a year. I recognized it because I'd owned one exactly like it, back when such things were just accessories to me.

"Oh my God," Hannah whispered, staring at the watch. "Calloway, is that real?"

Beneath the watch, nestled in custom foam, was a necklace that took my breath away. Diamonds and sapphires set in platinum, the kind of piece that belonged in museum collections, not small cottage living rooms.

With trembling fingers, I found the card at the bottom of the box. The handwriting was elegant and familiar:

"Calloway, I hope you and Hannah are well. These pieces were gifts I received but have no use for—they deserve to be with people who can appreciate their value. Consider them a small token of respect for the courage it took to change your life. Use them wisely. - R"

I stared at the card, then at the items that represented more money than Hannah and I would see in years of honest work. Rosalind—the woman whose life I'd helped destroy, whose happiness I'd tried to steal—had just handed us a lifeline.

"How much do you think these are worth?" Hannah asked softly.

I thought about the Patek Philippe's market value, about the quality of the diamonds in the necklace. Conservative estimate? "Enough to change everything," I said quietly.