The CEO They Called a Disgrace
My name is Ruby Lawson. I was born and raised in Prescat, Oregon, the kind of small town where college diplomas hanging on walls meant more than kindness or passion. In my household, there was no room for vague dreams, only the plan: graduate with honors, get into a prestigious university, pursue one of the respectable careers—law, medicine, or academia.
My father, Douglas, was a veteran political science lecturer at Oregon State University. He always stood straight, dressed sharply, and spoke as if constantly addressing a classroom. My mother, Linda, was the principal of the town’s only high school.
She believed every mistake could be avoided if people just followed discipline and tradition. To them, the perfect child was my sister, Natalie. She recited the Declaration of Independence at age four and got into Harvard Medical School at eighteen with a full-ride scholarship.
When she announced it, the whole family threw a party. Relatives from all over Oregon and Washington filled my grandparents’ old Craftsman house with the smell of roasted turkey and apple pie. My father raised his glass, eyes gleaming with pride.
“This is the future of America. That online business nonsense—just childish distractions.”
That comment was clearly aimed at me. I didn’t hate studying, but from a young age, I was far more fascinated by what happened behind the screen than by copying theorems into notebooks.
At twelve, I fixed a neighbor’s jammed printer for ten dollars. By fifteen, I’d written my first lines of code to build a simple website for Miss Martin’s flower shop. She got her first online order three days later.
The day I bought my first cheap “founder outfit” with money I’d earned myself, I stood in front of my streaked bedroom mirror and felt like I could change my life. I thought my parents would be proud. Instead, my mother frowned.
“You should focus on the SAT. These little hobbies won’t get you into Columbia.”
My father was blunter. He stared at the laptop I was setting up for a client and said coldly, “If you want to be a lifetime tech support girl, keep it up.
But don’t expect a single dime from us.”
At every meal, Natalie’s name was repeated like a sacred chant. “Natalie was chosen to present at the Boston Symposium.” “Professor Landon said she has natural leadership potential.”
And me? I was asked, “Ruby, are you retaking the math section of the SAT a third time?”
In May of my senior year, our family sat around the polished oak dinner table, surrounded by college application packets my father had arranged with almost ceremonial care.
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