Chapter 8
Mom changed her mind three times before we went upstairs to the ballroom.
We stood near the elevators in Moretti Plaza while people in long dresses and black coats moved around us. Mom kept one hand on my shoulder. I still wore my thin navy coat and my yellow boots, and the right boot was still on my left foot. She had noticed in the cab but hadn't made me switch them.
“If I leave now, he gets to explain why,” she said.
Mr. Moretti stood a few feet away, tall and still in his dark suit. He didn't tell her what to do.
“You can attend without speaking to anyone privately,” he said. “And you can leave whenever you choose.”
Mom looked at the elevator doors until they opened. Then she took my hand.
“We're staying,” she said.
The ballroom ceiling looked higher than our whole apartment. Round tables filled the room beneath gold lights, and waiters carried tiny food that didn't look like dinner. Everyone smiled as if smiling were part of their clothes.
Marco Bellini met us beside a table near the doors. He wore a formal suit and held a small event program folded against his palm.
“The foundation's check-in system records badge use,” he told Mom quietly. “The company owns the system, and tonight's attendees consented to security monitoring. I'm preserving only the business records we're authorized to retain.”
Mom nodded, though her fingers tightened around mine.
Mr. Moretti crouched so his face was closer to me. “There are going to be adult conversations.”
“I know.”
“Would you rather stay with your mom's friend from the foundation staff in the family room, or leave with your mom now?”
A woman named Ms. Alvarez waited nearby. Mom knew her from work, and they talked where I could hear them. The family room was across the hall, with two staff members, a sign-in sheet, juice boxes, and a door that stayed open. Mom showed me exactly where she would be.
I agreed to stay there after she promised she wouldn't leave the floor without me. I gave her the white rabbit for luck, repaired ear and all. She tucked him carefully under her arm.
From the open doorway, I could still see part of the stage.
A man named Richard Vale stepped behind the microphone. Mom had shown me his picture before we came. He was the senior executive whose office appeared beside the changed payment records. Onstage, he smiled warmly and thanked donors by name.
He spoke about trust, responsibility, and the Moretti Group family.
Then he said, “Organizations sometimes face confusion when employees choose to leave unexpectedly. We respect those private decisions, even when unfortunate claims follow.”
He didn't say Mom's name. He didn't have to. A few people near the stage turned toward Mr. Moretti. Others kept smiling at Mr. Vale.
Mom's face went very quiet.
Mr. Moretti watched Vale instead of the audience. Marco stood near a side wall, noting when staff badges opened the service corridor and when two people from Vale's office went in and out.
After the speech, Mr. Vale crossed the ballroom toward us. His smile stayed in place until he noticed the folded termination letter in Mr. Moretti's hand. Only one thing changed: his thumb pressed hard against the edge of his glass.
Then the smile returned.
“Elena,” he said. “I'm glad you came. Perhaps we could clear this up somewhere private.”
Mom held my rabbit tighter. “What does clearing it up mean?”
“A misunderstanding doesn't need to become an ordeal. We can discuss a quiet settlement, protect your references, and let everyone move forward.”
Mr. Moretti said nothing. He looked at Mom, waiting.
“No private meeting,” Mom said. Her voice shook once, then steadied. “And I don't want a quiet agreement.”
Vale's eyes moved toward the guests behind us. “You should consider what public accusations can do.”
“I am.” Mom took a breath. “Preserve every employment record connected to me. Preserve payment records, badge entries, document revisions, emails, messages, and printer logs. Nothing gets deleted.”
For the first time, Vale stopped smiling.
It lasted less than a second, but Mr. Moretti saw it. So did Marco.
Marco glanced at his phone. “A preservation notice has been issued through counsel,” he said. “The event access records are included.”
Mr. Vale looked at Mr. Moretti. “Dominic, surely you don't intend to encourage this spectacle.”
Mr. Moretti's voice remained low. “You made it a spectacle when you used the foundation stage.”
Vale walked away before the people nearby could hear more.
Mom came straight to the family room. She knelt and returned my rabbit to me.
“We're leaving,” she said.
In the elevator, Mr. Moretti stood on the opposite side from us, giving Mom space. Marco watched numbers change above the door while his phone filled with new messages.
“Two badges from Vale's office accessed the executive print room tonight,” he said. “One of them also appears in the preserved historical logs.”
Mom closed her eyes for one slow breath.
May you like
The elevator kept going down, carrying all of us away from the ballroom where everyone had smiled at the wrong man.
But this time, he hadn't been the only one telling the story.
