“We’re more alike than you know, Dorsey. Your dad was a powerful personality, and your mother was a compassionate soul. I was there when he adopted every single one of you kids. But you have to understand, his board is the same way—a found family handpicked by him for our skills. This meeting seemed harsh, but your father trusted us, and so should you.”

Dorsey shook himself loose of the man’s firm grip. “I trust you, Mr. Hampden, to maintain the same level of giving as we had just two years ago.”

“I think coming from such adversity as you did, you’ll always have a fighting spirit, and knowing that your father named your younger sister over you couldn’t have been easy. But you have an opportunity here that only a handful of people in the world have. So let’s just stay the course until she’s ready to lead.” Mr. Hampden tilted his head toward Gigi. “Make sure you’re handing her a company in the best position it can be.”

Dorsey had heard this many times over from his father’s friends and family in the past year. It went like this:

• The reminder that he had been plucked from obscurity out of the Philippines as a boy
• The subtle acknowledgment that he should be grateful for his position
• The even-gentler dig that he was not his father’s choice to lead

Not necessarily in that order, but always there.

“Mr. Hampden, I understand I am not anyone’s idea of a natural heir to Pemberley Development. Instead of getting an MBA, I went into the Peace Corps. You read the Wall Street Journal, I read The Atlantic. I understand what that costs me. But right now, I am the CEO, and I want a larger budget for our key strategic philanthropic measures.”

Gigi sidled up beside Dorsey, polished as ever. “Thank you for your perspective, Mr. Hampden. We’ll take it under consideration.” She nodded politely to the older man, and brother and sister walked out of the boardroom in silence.

Gigi pressed the button for the elevator. “Datu, don’t piss off the board.” She always called him his Tagalog surname when she felt conspiratorial. He was born ________ Datu-Ramos. How eager to get rid of him must his mother have been to not even quickly scrawl a first name for him before she left him wrapped in a soft T-shirt at an international orphanage. By nine years old, he was just a surname and did not even know he was without a first name until his first day in America. Unlike his sister, who had known her Kenyan full and elaborate name her entire life. The double standard, of course, was that she despised being called Gheche.