In my world, there are two Rebecca Hayeses. They live next to each other yet never meet. One is in soundproof security briefings, in files with the words “TOP SECRET” on them, and in the faint whispers of the international criminals I hunt. That is Rebecca Hayes, a Supervisory Special Agent who has worked for the Drug Enforcement Administration for 24 years. She was in charge of Operation Hammer Strike this week, which was a well-planned mission that eliminated the leaders of the Santos cartel. The agency’s greatest and most successful drug raid ever happened. Her coworkers like her, the director appreciates her, and now she is on the short list to be the first woman to manage the DEA.
The other Rebecca lives in the wonderful house in the suburbs where I grew up. That version is “the daughter who works for the government in a low-level security job.” My brother Daniel is a fantastic success story. She is a failure, a footnote, and an awkward afterthought.
But my dad worked the hardest to sell that version. Daniel, a regional manager for a mid-tier retail chain, was the living proof of his missed objectives. I, on the other hand, was just a silent, lingering remorse. I was the lady who faced cartel smugglers in dark alleys and struck agreements with spies whose betrayal meant certain death.
The painful break in my life was clearer than ever on Daniel’s wedding day. Everyone else in the ballroom was wearing tuxedos and jewel-toned outfits, but my basic black dress stood out. Over the years, I had figured out how to blend in at family occasions. That made it simple. It hurt less.
But tonight, it seemed like my dad was going out of his way to let everyone know how much he didn’t like me. His voice, full of champagne and fatherly pride, could be heard across the dance floor. He was having Daniel’s business partners over. They were men in fine suits who nodded in accord.
“And my son Daniel,” my father continued in a loud voice, “is now making six figures.” Do you believe it? The whole package: a corner office, a company car, and more. “Everything I ever wanted for my kids.”
He stopped for a second, and his smile faded a little as he looked around the room and then at me. “Of course, my daughter Rebecca… She went to college for a while, but it didn’t work out. She now has a security job with the government. It’s not a big deal, but it keeps her occupied.
The comments, which were said so casually, hurt like knives in an old wound. I thought of a reel of shame. My dad told a neighbor when I was twelve that Daniel was “the smart one” and I was “the artistic one.” This was a dig at my lousy grades. He wouldn’t stop talking about Daniel’s football scholarship at my high school graduation, even though I had a letter from Georgetown in my purse. Every Christmas, the same thing happens: Daniel becomes better and better, but Rebecca simply gets by.
For twenty-four years, my life was split in two. There were midnight raids, interrogations in dirty motels, and living on the edge of death on one side. On the other hand, my family was disrespectful, didn’t care, and kept making me feel worthless. They never asked me what I did for a living. Not even once. They had written in the blank that I had failed and let them down.
I was so angry and heartbroken that my chest hurt. I got up because I couldn’t take it anymore. I muttered “Excuse me” quietly to the people at my table and left the ballroom. There was just some soft jazz playing from the ceiling speakers in the hotel lobby, which made things quieter. There was a giant TV over the bar that showed the national news. I was going to walk past, but an image made me pause.
My image from the DEA.
The host remarked, “The DEA has broken up the infamous Santos cartel and taken more than two billion dollars’ worth of drugs and property in what officials are calling the most successful counter-narcotics operation in decades.” Rebecca Hayes, a Supervisory Special Agent who has worked for the agency for 24 years and employed innovative intelligence methods to bring down a group that was thought to be impenetrable, is in charge of the operation.
There were amazing aerial views of black SUVs bursting into warehouses at dawn and armored agents busting down doors on the screen. That was my life. That was my team. That was really me. But here I was, being ignored and made fun of in a hotel lobby.
“Rebecca, my love!” What are you doing out here all by yourself?
My aunt Carol’s cheerful voice broke through my thoughts. She wrapped her arm around mine and grinned with happiness that she didn’t know. “Daniel’s dad is immensely proud of him. Did you pay attention to what he said? Good. He has always wanted the best for you kids.
Her gaze followed mine to the TV, which was now showing medications that had been taken. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” She shivered and said, “All this drug violence.” “Thank God you work for the government and have a safe, quiet job.” Those poor agents had to clean up that mess.
A job with the government that is safe and quiet.
That phrase, which was so innocent and so wrong, was the last straw. A cold, controlled fire of anger burned inside me. I was done being quiet. Done being unseen. I’m done letting them tell my story.
“I should go back,” I said in a calm, almost too quiet voice. I got away from her arm and walked directly into the lion’s den.
I made it back just in time for my dad’s toast. His face was flushed with the smug glow of pleasure that made me feel like he was making fun of me.
He said, “Today is the proudest day of my life,” and his voice was full of phony emotion. “To see my son Daniel, who is now a successful regional manager with his own office, business car, and beautiful wife.” He has made it, ladies and gentlemen. He actually did it. He raised his drink. “To Sarah and Daniel!”
People began to applaud. But he wasn’t finished yet. He stared at me once more. “And of course… we also have Rebecca,” he continued, lowering his voice as if he were patting her on the head. “She has always done things her own way.” We didn’t think things would happen this way, but she’s here. Everyone in the room was laughing awkwardly. A public shaming that was also a wedding speech.
That’s when I took action.
I got up and walked forward with a purpose I’d never displayed in that room before. Three hundred people turned to look, and there was quiet. I stepped up on stage and stood next to my dad. Then I took the microphone out of his surprised hand. His smile faded.
I said, “Thanks, Dad,” in a strong, brave voice. “I just want to clear up a few things from your nice speech.”
I looked at the crowd, which was puzzled. My name is Rebecca Hayes. And for the last twenty-four years, my family has gotten a few things wrong about me.
I looked my dad straight in the eye. “You said I dropped out of college. Yes. I quit Georgetown after my first year because I got a job right away at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Georgia. “I was the best student in my class.”
His face moved from bewildered to scared.
“You said I was some kind of security guard,” I said quite clearly and sharply. I work for the DEA as a supervisory special agent. For twenty-four years, I have served in the military. I’ve worked covertly in three countries, led international task forces, and put my life on the line more times than I can count to protect people like you from predators you only see on TV.
People started to talk. Daniel stood up, looking lost.
“And you said I never did much,” I murmured, my voice echoing in the shocked silence. Last month, I earned the Director’s Award for Excellence. This is the DEA’s highest honor. And as some of you may have just heard on the news, I was in charge of the operation that took down the Santos cartel earlier this week. It was the biggest and most dangerous narcotics bust in federal history.
A young cousin yelled from the front, his eyes glued to his phone. “Oh my God, she’s on TV right now!”
A wave hit the room. Many phones lit up. And then there was the sound of the champagne flute dropping from my father’s numb fingers and breaking on the polished floor.
There was no noise at all. Three hundred individuals stared at me like they had never seen me before. My dad stood still, and his face turned pale with fear and remorse.
Daniel was the first to give in. He fell forward, and his light tuxedo looked like a costume. “Becca,” he stammered. “We… we didn’t know. Why didn’t you ever tell us?
When I looked at him, all the sadness I had felt over the years turned into a dull emptiness. “You didn’t know because you never asked.” In twenty-four years, no one here has ever asked me what I really do. You all believed I was a failure and a letdown, so you made up a story about me that was easier than getting to know me.
Finally, my dad said something. It sounded like it was suffocated. “I’m sorry, Rebecca, my love.”
I glanced at him—the man whose approval I had always desired and whose casual disdain had fashioned me. And I found out something great. It didn’t matter any longer. He apologized twenty-four years too late.
“Do you know what success means to me, Dad?” I asked, my voice now softer. “It means being aware that my work is important.” There are less drugs on the streets and fewer families that are broken up because of my workers. I have saved people. My job is to do something bigger than me. I did that nicely. And I don’t need your permission to feel good about it.
I placed the microphone down and walked off the stage. I left behind the broken family, the broken pride, and the quiet.
I checked my phone in the quiet parking lot of the motel. Seventeen reporters tried to phone but couldn’t get through. Forty-three texts from coworkers and subordinates saying nice things about me. And here’s a new message from Director Martinez:
“Hayes, the president wants to see you at the White House on Monday morning.” I hope you had a good time at the wedding.
I smiled for the first time that day, and it was a real smile that reached my eyes. I got in my car and headed home to the life I had built for myself. Back to the woman I had become, not because of my family, but maybe, just maybe, because of them.
