Chapter One - The Chairman's Seven Daughters
“General Manager, you are my most loyal employee and my friend.”
The chairman's voice carried across the enormous office, but there was none of the authority that usually accompanied it. Tonight, the man who had built an empire from almost nothing sounded weary—deeply, almost painfully weary.
He sat behind a polished mahogany desk, his broad shoulders slightly stooped beneath a white dress shirt with the collar loosened at his throat. Silver and white strands had overtaken much of his once-black hair, and faint lines had gathered around his eyes. Years of sleepless nights and endless business battles had left their marks upon him.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city was sinking into evening. The last orange light of sunset glimmered between the towers while thousands of headlights began to flicker awake below. Even through the thick glass, the distant hum of traffic seemed to vibrate through the office.
The chairman barely noticed.
He picked up a framed photograph from the corner of his desk.
Seven young women smiled back at him.
His daughters.
He studied their faces for several moments before releasing a long breath.
“Tell me honestly,” he said. “Except for Suab Ntxhee, don't you sometimes wonder what use the rest of my daughters will ever be?”
The general manager shifted uncomfortably.
He had worked beside the chairman for nearly twenty years. He had watched him negotiate million-dollar contracts without blinking, survive hostile takeovers, and silence entire boardrooms with a single look.
Yet this question frightened him more than any business crisis.
“Chairman, I…”
“You don't need to defend them.”
The chairman set the photograph down.
“I am their father. I know exactly what they're like.”
His finger tapped the first photograph.
“Suab Paj spends half her life shopping. If she comes home without several bags hanging from her arms, she considers the day wasted.”
The general manager lowered his eyes, hiding a smile.
“Suab Luag can prepare enough food to feed fifty people without breaking a sweat, but put a business report in front of her and she'll look at it as if you've handed her a foreign-language newspaper.”
A tiny smile escaped the general manager.
The chairman caught it.
“Don't laugh.”
“I wasn't laughing.”
“You were.”
The general manager straightened immediately.
The chairman moved to the next photograph.
“Suab See and Suab Kaj are forever chasing after men. Young, old, handsome, ugly—it doesn't matter. If a man looks at them for more than three seconds, they assume he's interested.”
The general manager coughed into his fist.
“Suab Yig has her nose buried in books all day. She's probably the most educated of them, but every time she starts explaining one of her theories to me, I regret asking.”
He reached for another photograph.
“And Suab Zoo…”
His voice softened.
“She barely speaks.”
He shook his head.
“I ask her a question and sometimes wait so long for an answer that I forget what I asked.”
The general manager couldn't suppress his smile this time.
Then the chairman's gaze settled on the last photograph.
Suab Ntxhee.
His expression changed completely.
There was pride in his eyes.
“She is different.”
“She certainly is,” the general manager agreed.
Everyone in the company knew Suab Ntxhee.
Unlike her sisters, she had never been content to live beneath her father's name. She had started at the bottom of the company and worked her way upward, learning every department instead of simply accepting an executive title because she was the chairman's daughter.
She knew the company's finances almost as well as the accounting department. She remembered clients' names, noticed mistakes others overlooked, and had a habit of reading every contract twice before signing it.
Most importantly, she wasn't afraid to tell her father when he was wrong.
“She has a good head on her shoulders,” the general manager said.
The chairman smiled faintly.
“She has the head I should have given all seven of them.”
The smile faded.
He looked down at his hands.
“But I won't be here forever.”
The general manager's expression sobered.
The chairman turned toward the window. His reflection stared back at him from the darkening glass.
“When their mother died, I should have been there for them. Instead, I buried myself in this company. Every birthday I missed, I sent gifts. Every school event I couldn't attend, I sent money. Every time I felt guilty, I bought them something expensive.”
His fingers slowly tightened around the edge of the desk.
“I thought money could make up for my absence.”
The ticking of the clock suddenly seemed louder.
“Perhaps all I did was teach them that money could solve everything.”
“You did what you thought was best,” the general manager said quietly.
The chairman shook his head.
“No. I did what was easiest.”
He turned around.
“I don't want to die one day and leave seven grown women who don't know how to take care of themselves.”
“You've provided more than enough for them.”
“That's exactly the problem.”
The chairman leaned back.
“Money is not preparation.”
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
Then the chairman's expression hardened with sudden resolve.
“So I'm going to fix it.”
The general manager's stomach tightened.
“How?”
The chairman looked at the photograph of his daughters.
“I'm going to find them husbands.”
The general manager blinked.
“Husbands?”
“Successful men. Educated men. Men with respectable families. Men who understand responsibility.”
“And your daughters?”
“They'll choose.”
The general manager hesitated.
The chairman's mouth curved into a faint smile.
“Of course, I'll make certain they understand that refusing to choose is not an option.”
“Chairman…”
“One week.”
He reached for the telephone.
“Prepare the invitations.”
“To whom?”
“Every eligible bachelor worth inviting.”
His gaze lingered on Suab Ntxhee's photograph.
“One week from today, my daughters will attend a ball.”
The chairman's decision hung in the room like a sentence no one dared challenge.
The general manager knew better than to argue.
“I'll make the arrangements.”
“Good.”
The chairman glanced once more at the photograph.
“Perhaps one week is all I need to put this family back on the right path.”
He had no idea how badly that plan was about to go wrong.
One week later, Suab Ntxhee stood at the head of the company's largest conference room with a laser pointer in one hand and a stack of reports in the other.
A presentation glowed across the enormous screen behind her.
“If we increase production by twenty percent now, we'll create unnecessary inventory. Twelve percent is safer. Demand is growing, but not fast enough to justify the additional risk.”
Twelve executives sat around the long glass table.
One of the senior directors leaned back.
“And you're willing to stake the project on that assumption?”
Suab Ntxhee met his eyes.
“It's not an assumption. I've reviewed the regional sales data for the last eighteen months.”
She clicked the remote.
A graph appeared.
“Look at the fourth quarter.”
The director leaned forward.
The room fell silent as the numbers appeared on the screen.
Finally, he nodded.
“Proceed with twelve percent.”
Suab Ntxhee closed the presentation.
“Good.”
The meeting continued for another half hour, but by the time she finally stepped into the hallway, the heels she'd been wearing since seven that morning were beginning to feel like instruments of torture.
She loosened her hair slightly and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
Then she heard two young employees whispering near the coffee station.
“Did you hear about the chairman's ball?”
“The marriage ball?”
“Apparently all seven daughters are expected to attend.”
Suab Ntxhee stopped.
The women noticed her.
Their conversation died instantly.
Suab Ntxhee slowly turned.
“What marriage ball?”
Neither woman answered.
They didn't need to.
She already knew.
Her father's office was empty when she stormed in ten minutes later.
She called him.
No answer.
She called again.
Still nothing.
Then she remembered his travel schedule.
He was leaving the country that afternoon.
“Of course.”
She grabbed her purse and hurried toward the parking garage.
If her father thought he could arrange her marriage while she was busy working, he had seriously underestimated her.
She drove toward the airport.
Halfway there, her car began beeping.
She glanced down.
The fuel warning glowed red.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
She pulled into the nearest gas station.
The air smelled of gasoline and hot pavement. Somewhere behind the convenience store, someone was frying onions, and the sharp scent of cooking oil mingled with exhaust from the idling cars.
She checked the clock.
Too late.
Her father would probably be boarding already.
She called him again.
This time he answered.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
“Dad, why am I finding out from your employees that you've arranged a marriage ball?”
Silence.
Then, calmly, “Because you're old enough.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is to me.”
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
“I don't need a husband to manage my life.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
His voice softened.
“Because one day I won't be here.”
Her anger faltered.
For a moment, she couldn't think of anything to say.
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” he said quietly. “But perhaps you shouldn't have to do everything alone.”
An airport announcement sounded faintly behind him.
“Dad—”
“I have to go.”
The line went dead.
Suab Ntxhee stared at her phone.
Then she tossed it onto the passenger seat.
“Unbelievable.”
She started the engine and pulled away from the gas station.
She was still fuming when she turned into the parking lot of a nearby shopping center.
Her mind was so consumed with her father's ridiculous plan that she didn't notice the man stepping behind her car.
She shifted into reverse.
Thump.
The sound was soft.
Too soft.
Her body jerked forward.
She slammed on the brakes.
For several seconds, she sat frozen behind the steering wheel, listening to the ticking engine.
Then she looked into the rearview mirror.
A man lay motionless on the pavement.
“Oh, God.”
She threw open the door.
Her heels struck the asphalt as she hurried toward him.
He looked as though he had been sleeping on the streets for months.
His long hair was tangled and dirty. A rough beard covered most of his face. His faded shirt was torn at one shoulder, and one shoe was missing. Up close, she could smell dust, sweat, and rain trapped in the fabric of his clothes.
“Sir?”
No response.
She crouched beside him.
Her fingers trembled as she checked his pulse.
There.
Faint, but steady.
Relief loosened the knot in her chest.
“He's alive.”
She reached for her phone.
Her fingers had barely touched the screen when the man's hand suddenly closed around her wrist.
Suab Ntxhee gasped.
His eyes remained shut.
“Don't…”
His voice was barely audible.
“Don't call the police.”
His grip weakened.
His hand fell away.
Suab Ntxhee stared at him.
A stranger she'd just hit with her car.
A stranger who looked as though he'd spent the night sleeping beneath a bridge.
And the first thing he had done upon waking was beg her not to call the police.
She looked toward the road.
Then back at him.
Something about the situation felt wrong.
Very wrong.
But she couldn't leave an injured man lying on the pavement.
With a frustrated sigh, she reached for her phone again.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I'll take you to the hospital myself.”
She had no idea who the man was or why he was so afraid of the police.
She only knew that, somehow, the stranger she had accidentally hit was about to become entangled in a life her father had already decided for her.
And neither of them yet understood how deeply their lives were already connected.
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