Chapter 3 - A Seat at the Exit
Evelyn closed the folder. “Andre,” she said to the waiter, “would you be kind enough to call the building manager?”
The young man nodded. Celia caught his sleeve.
“This is a private event.”
“And he is an employee,” Evelyn said. “Release him.”
Andre slipped away. Marcus stood at last, too late to look brave.
“Nia, we need to go.”
“Did you forge my signature?”
“No.” He swallowed. “I didn't put it on that paper.”
It was a careful answer. The kind Marcus had started giving after he took over as chief financial officer of the foundation.
Celia reached for the folder. Evelyn held it beyond her grasp.
“Move,” Celia hissed.
“Try asking nicely. You used to know how.”
A security guard appeared near the stage. For one dizzy second I imagined being escorted out of another Whitmore event, photographed as the unstable wife who had ruined a gala. Then Andre returned with the banquet manager, who quietly showed the guard a note. The guard turned away from us and blocked the side service corridor instead.
Evelyn rose with slow care. “We're leaving by the main doors. Nia walks beside me.”
Celia's voice cracked. “You don't understand what's at stake.”
“Oh, I do.” Evelyn tucked the folder under her arm. “For the first time, I think I do.”
We crossed the ballroom under the stare of every donor who had once told me my work was inspiring. None offered to help. Simone caught up near the coat check.
“Whatever happens,” she told me, “don't let anyone say those scholarships were paid.”
I stopped. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes shone. “Three parents called our clinic this week. They were told their children had received grants. They hadn't seen a dollar.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I tried. Marcus said your father had died and you needed space. I believed him.”
Outside, the cold air smelled of snow and exhaust. Evelyn's driver held the car door open. Marcus followed us, pleading my name.
May you like
Then the engine of a gray SUV started across the street. Its headlights flared. The vehicle rolled toward the curb, and a rear window lowered.
A voice called, “Mrs. Brooks, get in. Your father didn't die the way they told you.”
