Chapter 7
Maya had the laptop open at the kitchen counter before I'd finished my coffee. She'd pulled the Whitmore gala packet from her bag and spread the budget summary next to it, the one with the donor totals on the last page. Morning light cut hard across the apartment and made the dust on the fridge look sharp.
She didn't look up when I came in. She was scrolling through photos from the night before on her phone, then back to the spreadsheet.
"I keep getting two different numbers for the youth program," she said. "The packet says three hundred and ten. My email from last week says seven hundred and ten. That's a lot of art supplies."
I stood by the sink with my mug. My black smartphone was face-down on the counter beside her, the screen dark. I could feel my pulse in my wrist under the gold watch.
"Probably a typo," I said. "They were rushing to print."
She frowned at the screen. "Maybe. I texted Jenna but she said finance handled it. I'm just going to call Mr. Adler directly. He'll know which one posted."
Mr. Adler was the foundation accountant. Thomas had mentioned him the night of the gala, right before he had me move the transfer. My stomach tightened and I took a slow breath so it wouldn't show.
"Yeah, call him," I said. I tried to make it sound casual. "He'd know."
She found the number on the Whitmore directory and hit call. She put it on speaker without thinking. It rang three times.
Then voicemail. A crisp, automated male voice, not Adler himself. "You've reached David Adler at Whitmore Foundation accounting. I am out of the office until Monday, November 18th, with limited access to email. For urgent matters, please contact..."
Maya ended the call before the rest played. She stared at the phone.
"Out till Monday," she said.
She checked her email again and read out loud. "Yeah, auto-reply. 'Out of office until Monday. Will respond upon return.' Great."
Two more days. I felt relief and panic at the same time, like thin ice holding but cracking.
"So we wait till Monday," I said.
Maya didn't answer right away. She tapped her nail against the counter. "I left a message. I said it was about the final gala disbursement numbers and I wanted to confirm before I post the thank-yous. He should call back when he's back."
She closed the laptop halfway. She looked tired, not suspicious yet, but stuck. That wall would hold her up until Monday, and that was exactly the delay I knew my father would want to use.
While Maya was in the bathroom, I picked up my phone and stepped onto the fire escape. The city was gray and cold, no bokeh now, just flat daylight off the buildings.
I texted Thomas: Maya saw numbers. Called Adler. He's out till Monday.
He read it almost immediately. Three dots appeared. Then: Don't let her dig. Bring your phone to my office tonight. 7pm. We need to clean this up.
Then another text, a minute later: Bring the device. We'll make sure there's nothing to find.
He didn't say wipe. He didn't have to. My hand got tight around the matte black phone. The same phone I'd held near my mouth in the dressing suite when I'd whispered that line. She must never find out. That phone had the screenshots of the transfer, the forged confirmation, the time stamp at 9:47 p.m.
I stared at the message and realized he wasn't asking me to protect Maya anymore. He was asking me to protect himself.
I went back inside. Maya was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, looking at the gala program where her youth workshop was listed with a little star next to it. She looked up at me.
"You okay?" she asked. "You got quiet."
I slipped the phone into my pocket. My breathing felt restrained again, the same shallow hold from the suite.
"Yeah," I said. "Just thinking about work. You want me to wait with you till Monday? We can ask Adler together."
She gave me a small, tired smile. It made the lie feel heavier. "You don't have to. I know you have that tower meeting."
I hadn't told her about the meeting. Thomas had just set it.
"No meeting," I said, then corrected. "I mean, Thomas wanted to see me tonight. Just office stuff."
Her eyes lingered on me a second too long, like she was trying to read the pause before I spoke. She didn't push.
I texted Thomas back with my thumb in my pocket so she wouldn't see: I'll come to tower tonight. Phone stays with me.
May you like
He replied: 7. Don't be late.
I left the phone in my pocket. I didn't delete anything. For the first time since the gala, I wasn't sure my father was someone I wanted to protect.
