Trey

Quick Facts

• Role: Primary antagonist in the contemporary storyline; co-owner of Ludington’s
• First appearance: Early chapters via the shutdown text; fully described in Chapter 3
• Key relationships: Ex-boyfriend and business partner of Emsley Wilson; new boyfriend and business ally of Diya

Who They Are

Boldly profit-first and emotionally tone-deaf, Trey embodies the novel’s modern challenge to purpose-driven work: a sleek, numbers-over-narrative logic that collides with Emsley’s belief in passion, legacy, and art. He isn’t a mustache-twirling villain so much as a polished, data-fluent force insisting that feelings have no place in the boardroom. His “looming” physicality—“California tousled-blond, tall and lanky” (Chapter 3)—mirrors his habit of overshadowing Emsley’s voice, and his condescension becomes the pressure that crystallizes her resolve.

He symbolizes the cultural voice that calls women’s conviction “ego,” then recasts coercion as “care.” In pushing Emsley toward profit at all costs, Trey becomes the foil against which themes of Female Empowerment and Perseverance sharpen. His opposition also echoes the book’s historical thread: like the skeptics Johanna Bonger faced while safeguarding art and legacy, Trey represents a worldview that dismisses Legacy, Art, and Preservation as sentimental liabilities.

Personality & Traits

Trey’s persona blends polish with pressure. He’s savvy and strategic, yet his strategy is almost always self-serving, cloaked in the language of reason and concern. The result is a chillingly competent antagonist who leverages professional jargon—and intimacy—to gain control.

• Pragmatic and profit-driven: He urges a pivot away from auctions to political polling because “that’s where the money is,” insisting, “I want us to go in the direction of profit” (Chapter 3). His metric is revenue, not mission.
• Dismissive and belittling: He reframes Emsley’s conviction as pathology—“a meandering hike up Mount Denial”—and reduces her vision to “an ego thing” (Chapter 3), signaling a pattern of gendered condescension.
• Controlling and entitled: He sets a punitive buyout ultimatum—pay a million dollars within thirty days or be lowballed—and physically “looms” to dominate space (Chapter 3), asserting ownership over both company and narrative.
• Attention-seeking: “Trey liked attention” (Chapter 3), which explains why he thrives with Diya’s admiration and flounders with Emsley’s focus on the work over him.
• Manipulative: He packages coercion as care: “I want what’s best for you” (Chapter 23). Even his marriage proposal is transactional, a bid to consolidate assets rather than feelings.

Character Journey

Trey’s arc is deliberately static: he starts as the man who chooses expedience over ethics and ends the same way, forcing change in everyone but himself. He detonates the status quo with a shutdown text, then escalates to a cynical buyout scheme that weaponizes both romance and capital. While Emsley evolves—gathering allies, honing her vision, and learning to negotiate—Trey doubles down on his certainty that she’s naive. In his final sequence in the Chapter 26-30 Summary, he barges in expecting compliance, only to meet a fortified Emsley backed by investors. Cornered, he attempts a last-ditch merger-by-marriage and, when that fails, exits still convinced she’ll collapse without him. His stagnation highlights the novel’s central tension: Emsley grows because she risks; Trey cannot grow because he refuses to.

Key Relationships

• Emsley Wilson: With Emsley, Trey shifts from partner to opponent, interpreting her passion as volatility and her leadership as ego. He underestimates her persistence, and the more he belittles her, the more he inadvertently steels her resolve to lead Ludington’s on her own terms—an engine for the novel’s arc of female self-definition.
• Diya: Trey’s relationship with Diya is matched incentives: he gets validation and alignment with his profit agenda; she aligns with his plan to dissolve and later sell her shares. The bond flourishes because it feeds his need for attention, revealing how emotionally transactional his intimacy is.

Defining Moments

Trey’s impact lands through decisive moves that test Emsley’s agency—and force her to evolve from founder to leader.

• The shutdown text: At the end of the Chapter 1-5 Summary, “We need to shut down” detonates the central conflict. Why it matters: It reframes a business disagreement as an existential threat, pushing Emsley from reaction to strategy.
• The buyout ultimatum: Demanding a million dollars in thirty days or buying her out for a fraction exposes his coercive pragmatism. Why it matters: It weaponizes capital against passion, sharpening the novel’s critique of profit-only leadership.
• The final confrontation at Violet’s house: He arrives at Violet Velar’s home expecting submission, then proposes marriage as a corporate tactic. Why it matters: The scene flips power dynamics—Emsley’s network and counteroffer force Trey to accept a split, proving that community and conviction can outmaneuver control.

Essential Quotes

We need to shut down.

This blunt text acts as a trigger event: Trey frames the company’s future as a foregone conclusion, positioning himself as the arbiter of “reality.” The lack of justification—or empathy—exposes his executive style: decisive, dispassionate, and dismissive of shared ownership.

This isn’t the time for a meandering hike up Mount Denial, Emsley. Mark Selig flew back to DC because you couldn’t accommodate him. Anyway, nobody said we should throw away what we have. I looked into political polling. That’s where the money is. I want us to go in the direction of profit.

Here, Trey pathologizes Emsley’s conviction (“Mount Denial”) while presenting his pivot as sober inevitability. By invoking a missed client and dangling a high-margin substitute, he cloaks a hostile takeover in the language of stewardship.

So it’s all about you? It’s a freaking ego thing?

Trey reframes Emsley’s leadership as narcissism to delegitimize her authority. The accusation reveals projection: he calls her egoistic precisely when he’s maneuvering for unilateral control.

You could marry me. Then we’d own both Ludington’s offices together. We could open a third one in Seattle. Expand. I feel like with you, I could build something. I’m talking about serious money.

The proposal fuses romance and real estate, revealing that for Trey, intimacy is leverage and marriage a merger. His pitch—growth, expansion, “serious money”—reduces partnership to scalability, not shared values.

You’re going to fail in New York. You’re going to regret this.

Trey’s parting shot condenses his blind spot: he can’t account for community, vision, or resilience—only risk. The line attempts to seed doubt, but instead underscores the theme that faith in purpose can outlast market cynicism.