Chapter 9: The Gala List And The Foundation Tower
The next morning the estate didn't feel like a house anymore. It felt like an office.
I sat on the bottom step by the hallway and watched Mom push a garment rack past the dining room. The table from the night before had been cleared. Now it was covered in printed lists and a laptop, and Mr. Balanki and the man in the tuxedo from dinner stood over it.
I was old enough to stay quiet when adults were working. Young enough they forgot I was listening.
That man wasn't just a guest. Mr. Balanki called him James, and he had a headset around his neck and that same tuxedo shirt but with sleeves rolled up. He tapped a sheet with seating names on it.
"Foundation Tower, ballroom level, coat check on two, parking lot validation at the main entrance," James said. His voice was even, like he was reading instructions. "Donors check in at the ballroom doors. Private dressing suites are on the back hall. Those stay locked."
Mr. Balanki nodded. He was still in his black suit jacket but he'd taken off the pocket square. His watch caught the morning light from the window.
"And the suites?" he asked.
"Cream access card only," James said. "One per suite. That's where we secure the checks before the public program. No card, no entry. Staff won't open it for anyone, not even family."
I didn't know what a donor check was then, exactly. I just heard the way he said it. Like it mattered more than the dinner.
From the doorway, Selene appeared. Her hair was still in that low bun, but she wore jeans and a white sweater now, holding a coffee and her little light-colored clutch tucked under her arm. She smiled like nothing had happened the night before.
"Did you get my name on the family table?" she asked James. She didn't wait for him to answer, just leaned over the list. "And the dressing suite. I'm assuming I'm in with you, honey? For photos before we go out?"
Mr. Balanki looked at her. Just a look.
James hesitated. "You're penciled on the family table, Selene. And the suite access — that was paired with the primary donor card. The cream one."
"Perfect," she said quickly. "So I'll just use that one. You left it in the locked room, right? I saw it when I —" She stopped herself and smiled again, smaller this time. "I mean, I know where it is."
Mom came back through with an armful of table runners and froze when she heard that. She didn't say anything. She just adjusted the fabric and kept her eyes down.
Mr. Balanki's hand rested on the back of one of those cream dining chairs. The same chair I'd sat in. He didn't move it.
"James will handle access at the Tower," he said, his voice flat and quiet. "Don't worry about the card."
Selene's fingers tightened around her clutch. "I wasn't worried."
Later that afternoon I helped Mom fold napkins in the kitchen while James was on the phone in the office. The door was open a crack and I could hear every word because the house was so quiet.
"Yeah, invalidate the original," James said. "Issue a monitored duplicate for Suite A. Same cream stock, but it'll flag at the reader and log entry without opening the money box." A pause. "No, don't tell her. Let her test it. We'll have security at the ballroom doors, plain clothes. If she tries it, we know."
My stomach dropped. I understood enough. The card wasn't just a card. It was a key. And they were making a fake key to see what she would do.
I carried the napkins into the dining room where Selene was standing alone, looking at the seating chart. She had a pen in her hand and was drawing a little star next to her name at the head table, right beside Mr. Balanki's. She saw me and her face changed.
"Lily, sweetheart," she said, soft again. Like at the table. "Tomorrow night's going to be so big. Ballroom, chandeliers, everybody in gowns. There will be a line at coat check and photographers in the parking lot. You and your mom will be there to help, but you'll stay backstage, okay? That's where good helpers stay."
She reached out like she might touch my hair, then didn't.
"The card just lets the family get ready away from all that noise," she added. "It's not a big deal. Mr. Balanki just worries too much about his little room."
I nodded because Mom had told me to nod when Selene talked. But now I got why Selene wanted that cream card so badly. It wasn't about a locked room in our house. It was about a locked room in a tall building downtown where people kept money and had their pictures taken. Where being called family meant being seen.
That evening, Mr. Balanki found me sitting by the fireplace where the mantel vases were. He didn't ask me about the card. He just stood there and asked if I'd ever been to a ballroom.
I shook my head.
"It's just a big dining room," he said. "Loud music, too many plates. But the suites in the back are quiet. That's where people think no one is watching."
He didn't say what he was going to do. He didn't have to. I'd heard James on the phone. He'd set the trap without using me. And for the first time I understood that the trap wasn't to catch me lying. It was to catch her trying.
When I went back to our rooms that night, Mom was pressing her black dress for the gala. The white apron hung on the door.
May you like
"Stay close to me tomorrow," she said, not looking up. "We go in the service entrance. We don't use the parking lot like guests."
I thought about the cream card in Selene's clutch, and the duplicate that wouldn't work, and the ballroom that was waiting to see who belonged where.
