There are two Rebecca Hayeses in my world, and they never cross paths because they live in parallel.
One can be found in the quiet murmurs of the transnational crooks I pursue, in files marked “TOP SECRET,” and in soundproof security briefings.
That Rebecca is the Drug Enforcement Administration’s twenty-four-year veteran, Supervisory Special Agent Rebecca Hayes.
She oversaw Operation Hammer Strike just this week, the biggest and most effective drug raid in the agency’s history.
It was a painstakingly planned takedown that resulted in the decapitation of the Santos cartel’s leadership. She is on the short list to become the first woman to command the DEA, and she is well-liked by her coworkers and the Director.
The cozy suburban house where I grew up is where the other Rebecca resides. “The daughter who does some kind of low-level government security job” is that version.
She is an embarrassment, a footnote, and a failure in comparison to my brother Daniel’s spectacular accomplishment.
And my father worked harder than anyone to promote that version. As a regional manager for a mid-tier retail company, Daniel represented his unfulfilled aspirations to him.
But I, the woman who dealt with informants whose treachery meant definite death and faced cartel smugglers in dark alleys, was a silent, lingering embarrassment.
The painful division in my life had never been more obvious than it was on Daniel’s wedding day. My simple black dress stood out amid the tuxedos and dresses with jewel tones as I sat close to the rear of the beautiful ballroom. I had become an expert at being invisible at family get-togethers over the years. That was simpler. It was less painful.
However, my father seemed intent on making sure that everyone knew how much he disapproved of me tonight. Propelled by champagne and fatherly pride, his voice reverberated over the dance floor. Men in pricey suits nodded respectfully as he entertained Daniel’s business associates.
My father said, “And my son Daniel is now earning six figures. Can you believe that?” The complete package: business car, corner office. All of my dreams for my children
He paused, his eyes scanning the room before settling on me, his smile barely faltering. “My daughter Rebecca, of course… She briefly tried attending college, but it didn’t work out. She currently works for the government as a security guard. It keeps her occupied, but it’s nothing significant.
The casually said words pierced an old wound like knives. A mental reel of embarrassment flashed through my head.
At twelve, I overheard my father make a jab at my inconsistent grades by telling a neighbor that Daniel was “the smart one” and I was “the artistic one.”
Standing at my high school graduation at the age of 18, I ignored the Georgetown admission letter wrapped in my bag while he boasted endlessly about Daniel’s football scholarship. Every holiday tells the same tale: Rebecca is only plodding along, and Daniel is the rising star.
I had been living a life that was divided for twenty-four years. On the one hand, there are midnight raids, questioning in dubious motels, and living on the precipice of death.
Conversely: contemptuous comments, heartbreaking apathy, and the gradual deterioration of my value at my family’s table. They didn’t inquire about my job. Not once. They had already filled in the blank: I was a letdown and a failure.
My chest became knotted with anguish and rage. I got up, no longer able to listen. I whispered to my table companions, “Pardon me,” and snuck out of the ballroom.
There was less noise in the hotel lobby, only the gentle sound of jazz coming from the ceiling speakers. The national news was on a big TV above the bar. I intended to ignore it, but a picture halted me in my tracks.
My portrait with the DEA.
The host remarked, “The DEA has broken up the infamous Santos cartel, seizing more than two billion dollars in drugs and assets in what officials are calling the most successful counter-narcotics operation in decades.”
The multi-agency investigation was led by Supervisory Special Agent Rebecca Hayes, a 24-year veteran whose creative intelligence methods brought down a once-untouchable organization.
Dramatic aerial imagery of armored agents beating down doors and black SUVs invading warehouses at daybreak dominated the screen. My world was like that. My squad was that. That was who I really was. And yet, here I was in a hotel lobby, disregarded and devalued.
“My dear Rebecca! Why are you by alone out here?
My thoughts were interrupted by my aunt Carol’s upbeat voice. With blind excitement in her eyes, she put her arm through mine. “Your dad is really pleased with Daniel. Have you listened to his speech? Fantastic. He has always wished you children the best.
She followed my eyes to the TV, which was now displaying confiscated goods. “Wrong, isn’t it? She shuddered as she whispered, “All this drug violence.” “Thank heavens you have a government job that is safe and quiet, unlike those poor agents who have to deal with that mess.”
A government employment that is calm and safe.
That sentence was the tipping moment since it was so blatantly incorrect and guileless. Anger ignited within of me like a cold, controlled fire. Silence was over for me. Invisibility is over. I’ve finished letting them craft my tale.
“I should return,” I said in a remarkably composed voice. I marched directly into the lion’s den after slipping out of her arm.
My father was about to take the stage for his toast when I came back. His face flushed with a smug glow of delight as he held the champagne, and I felt insulted.
His voice was full of fake emotion as he said, “Today is the proudest day of my life.” “To see my son Daniel, who is now a prosperous regional manager with a lovely wife, his own office, and a company car.” Ladies and gentlemen, he has succeeded. He has really succeeded. He held up his glass. “To Sarah and Daniel!”
There was a burst of applause. He wasn’t done, though. He looked at me once more. As a verbal pat on the head, he added, “And of course… we also have Rebecca.”
She has always followed her own path. It wasn’t the route we anticipated, but she’s here. The room echoed with awkward laughter. A wedding toast encased in public shame.
I took action at that point.
With a purpose I had never displayed in that room, I got up and moved forward. Three hundred pairs of eyes turned, and there was silence. I went up on stage, stepped next to my dad, and grabbed the microphone out of his astonished grasp. His grin stopped.
“Thank you, Dad,” I said in a confident, strong voice. “I would like to make a few clarifications regarding your beautiful speech.”
I looked around at the confused crowd. Rebecca Hayes is my name. For the past 24 years, my family has also misinterpreted a few things about me.
I gave my father a direct look. “You mentioned that I left college. It’s true. After my first year, I left Georgetown because I was accepted straight to the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Georgia. I received the highest grade in my class.
A look of confusion and then uneasiness crossed his face.
“You mentioned that I was a security guard of some sort,” I added, being exact and incisive. Actually, I work for the DEA as a Supervisory Special Agent.
I have twenty-four years of service. To defend people like you from predators you only see on TV, I have led international task forces, gone undercover in three different countries, and put my life in danger more times than I can remember.
There were echoes of whispers. Daniel stood up, his expression bewildered.
In the startled quiet, I continued, my voice ringing, “And you said I never accomplished much.”
“The DEA’s highest distinction, the Director’s Award for Excellence, was given to me last month. Additionally, I oversaw the operation that broke up the Santos cartel earlier this week—the biggest and riskiest drug bust in federal history, as some of you may have just heard on the news.
With his eyes fixed on his phone, a young cousin yelled abruptly from the front. “Oh my God, she’s currently on the news!”
The room was washed by a wave. Numerous phones came to life. The champagne flute shattered on the polished floor when it slipped from my father’s numb fingers.
There was complete quiet. As though they were seeing me for the first time, three hundred visitors gazed at me. My father’s face fell into embarrassment and panic, and he stood still.
Daniel was the first to break. Pale and wearing a tuxedo that now looked like a costume, he staggered forward. “Becca,” he stumbled to say. “We—we had no idea. Why didn’t you tell us at all?
With all of my years of suffering condensed into a tired emptiness, I turned to face him. “You never asked, so you were unaware.
No one here has ever inquired about my true job in twenty-four years. You all constructed your story around the idea that I was a failure and a letdown because it was simpler that way than recognizing my true self.
My father finally found his voice, a choked one. “Rebecca, my love… I apologize.
I turned to face him—the guy whose acceptance I had yearned for my entire life, whose casual contempt had molded me. And I came to a startling realization. It was no longer relevant. It was twenty-four years after the fact that he apologized.
“Dad, do you understand what success means to me?” With a softer tone, I inquired. Knowing that my job matters is what it means. that fewer families are destroyed and fewer drugs are on the streets as a result of my team.
I have saved lives. I have dedicated my professional life to a cause bigger than myself. My prosperity lies upon that. And I may be proud of it without your consent.
After putting down the microphone, I left the stage. I left behind the broken family, the silence, and the broken pride.
I looked at my phone in the silent hotel parking lot. Reporters missed seventeen calls. I received 43 texts thanking me from coworkers and subordinates. Additionally, Director Martinez sent out a fresh text:
“Hayes, you are invited to the White House on Monday morning by the President. I hope the wedding was enjoyable for you.
I smiled for the first time that day, a genuine smile that extended to my eyes. Returning to the world I had created for myself, I got into my car and drove home. Returning to the person I had become—perhaps even because of my family, but not in spite of them.
