Chapter 14
I didn't lie back down on the couch. I sat on it.
That was the difference. The cream damask was the same, the chandelier threw the same warm light over the gold mirror and the crystal lamp, but I sat upright in my white sequined dress with my feet flat on the rug and my hands in my lap. The three of them stood where they'd stood that first night — the man in the black suit to the left of the couch, the older man with his arms crossed in the center, the blond man to the right with his hands in his pockets. Only now they were waiting for me.
My phone was in my right hand. I leaned over and placed it screen-up on the side table next to the crystal lamp, right beside the vase of white roses and the framed photo they'd hoped I hadn't looked at closely enough. The black screen reflected the chandelier.
"You don't have to stand," I said. I kept my voice low. "But you do have to listen without interrupting. Like I did."
The man in the black suit started to answer. I held up my hand.
"Eight seconds," I said. "Then you can talk."
I tapped play.
His own voice came out first, clear in the quiet room. "You misunderstand everything." A half second of silence, then the older man's voice, lower, unhurried. "The donor access is confirmed if she stays quiet through the gala. We handle it after."
Eight seconds exactly. I tapped pause. The room stayed silent except for the faint hum of the chandelier.
I looked at the man in the black suit.
"You brought me a drink that night," I said. "You said it would help me relax before the photos. You said the donors were already asking for me and you didn't want me to seem nervous." I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to. "You stood right there, leaned over the back of this couch with your fist on the cushion, and you told your father I was already out enough that you could keep me here through the whole conversation."
His jaw worked. He glanced at the older man, then back at me.
"That isn't —" he started.
"You said you'd take care of it," I said. "You misunderstand everything. That's what you said when I opened my eyes. You weren't talking to me. You were talking to him, trying to explain why I was awake."
He didn't answer. His hands flexed at his sides.
I turned to the older man. The light caught the large square silver ring with the black onyx center on his left hand where it rested against his crossed arms.
"You had your left hand right behind my head," I said. "I could see that ring blurred above me while I pretended to be asleep and you talked about me like I wasn't there." I nodded toward the framed photo on the side table next to my phone. "That photo was taken at the foundation dinner last spring. I'm in that dress. I'm standing next to the board chair whose access you were selling. You told him I would be agreeable. You told the blond man to make sure the side door was locked so no staff came in while you decided."
The older man's expression didn't change, but his left hand shifted slightly, fingers curling so the ring turned inward.
"That's a fantasy," he said evenly. "A recording clipped out of context."
"It's not clipped," I said. "The full file is thirty-seven minutes. It's not just on this phone anymore."
For the first time I looked at the blond man. He hadn't moved, hands still in his pockets, light gray suit catching the lamplight.
"Tell him where I was," I said to him. "Tell him I didn't move."
The blond man's throat moved when he swallowed. He didn't speak. He just gave one short nod, eyes on the rug, not on the older man. That was enough. The older man's gaze flicked to him and stayed there a second too long.
May you like
"I stayed still and I heard every word," I said. "Now you will do the same for me. You don't get to explain it away while I'm lying down. You listen while I'm sitting up. Then we talk about what happens next."
No one moved toward the phone. No one reached for the door. The chandelier kept burning warm over all of us, and the recording sat waiting on the table where I could see it, exactly where they could see I wasn't afraid of them touching it anymore.
