No flowers for the dead - Chapter 51: Chapter 51
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Rae had never liked microphones.
Not because she feared speaking—but because too many years of silence had taught her to be wary of being heard.
But now, she stood on a stage lined with chrome and light at the Verdant Global Summit in Seoul, her name alone headlining the program.
Rae Thorne – “Legacy and Reinvention: Beyond the Bloodline.”
Not “Elias’s daughter.”
Not “Elara’s shadow.”
Just her.
She stared at the crowd—investors, entrepreneurs, media, and a handful of skeptics. The ones who had once whispered about her existence behind gold-leafed doors now sat in straight-backed silence, waiting.
⸻
Her voice was steady.
“Inheritance is not destiny,” Rae said. “And blood is not proof of worth. I’m not standing here because of a name. I’m standing here in spite of it.”
A pause.
A ripple of attention.
She stepped forward, eyes unflinching.
“My father built an empire on power and loyalty. I plan to rebuild it on truth and access.”
Someone in the front row shifted uncomfortably.
Perfect.
She continued.
“We will be investing in women-led ventures. In sustainability. In tech equity. In the next generation that doesn’t carry our name but carries our future.”
It wasn’t a speech.
It was a claim.
⸻
The backlash came fast.
“She’s diluting the brand.”
“Another daughter with daddy’s money.”
“A sentimental novice trying to run a legacy like a charity.”
Rae didn’t flinch.
She called a board meeting.
She walked into that room in a white suit and a steady gaze.
“I’m not here to repeat Elias Thorne,” she told the table. “I’m here to evolve what he refused to.”
⸻
Outside the glass walls of the boardroom, protestors gathered.
Some cheered. Some sneered.
Inside, the votes came in.
It wasn’t unanimous.
But it was enough.
Rae’s hand didn’t tremble as she signed her first executive order under the Thorne Foundation.
⸻
Later that evening, Elara called.
“I heard you rattled the old guard,” she said.
“I didn’t rattle them,” Rae replied with a grin. “I invited them to be better. They just haven’t accepted yet.”
A beat of silence.
Then laughter.
Not cold.
Not bitter.
But proud.
Not because she feared speaking—but because too many years of silence had taught her to be wary of being heard.
But now, she stood on a stage lined with chrome and light at the Verdant Global Summit in Seoul, her name alone headlining the program.
Rae Thorne – “Legacy and Reinvention: Beyond the Bloodline.”
Not “Elias’s daughter.”
Not “Elara’s shadow.”
Just her.
She stared at the crowd—investors, entrepreneurs, media, and a handful of skeptics. The ones who had once whispered about her existence behind gold-leafed doors now sat in straight-backed silence, waiting.
⸻
Her voice was steady.
“Inheritance is not destiny,” Rae said. “And blood is not proof of worth. I’m not standing here because of a name. I’m standing here in spite of it.”
A pause.
A ripple of attention.
She stepped forward, eyes unflinching.
“My father built an empire on power and loyalty. I plan to rebuild it on truth and access.”
Someone in the front row shifted uncomfortably.
Perfect.
She continued.
“We will be investing in women-led ventures. In sustainability. In tech equity. In the next generation that doesn’t carry our name but carries our future.”
It wasn’t a speech.
It was a claim.
⸻
The backlash came fast.
“She’s diluting the brand.”
“Another daughter with daddy’s money.”
“A sentimental novice trying to run a legacy like a charity.”
Rae didn’t flinch.
She called a board meeting.
She walked into that room in a white suit and a steady gaze.
“I’m not here to repeat Elias Thorne,” she told the table. “I’m here to evolve what he refused to.”
⸻
Outside the glass walls of the boardroom, protestors gathered.
Some cheered. Some sneered.
Inside, the votes came in.
It wasn’t unanimous.
But it was enough.
Rae’s hand didn’t tremble as she signed her first executive order under the Thorne Foundation.
⸻
Later that evening, Elara called.
“I heard you rattled the old guard,” she said.
“I didn’t rattle them,” Rae replied with a grin. “I invited them to be better. They just haven’t accepted yet.”
A beat of silence.
Then laughter.
Not cold.
Not bitter.
But proud.
End of No flowers for the dead Chapter 51. Continue reading Chapter 52 or return to No flowers for the dead book page.