Chapter 2
The phone was heavier than it should have been. My right hand shook holding it up, and the screen was still lit.
I hadn't reached for it to make a call. I'd reached because it was the only thing in that room that wasn't watching me.
Behind the couch, none of them moved. The man in the black suit still had his fist pressed into the cream damask where he'd leaned over me. The older man stood with his arms crossed, the square silver ring with the black onyx catching the chandelier light. The blond man in the light gray suit had his hands in his pockets like he was trying to look casual and failing.
I didn't look at them. I looked at the phone.
The screen showed the voice memo app. The red bar was still running. 14:37 and counting.
I remembered turning it on. Earlier, in the kitchen before the others came in from the ballroom, I'd set the phone on the side table and tapped record because the older man had said we needed to "clarify the donor conversation before she gets confused." I'd thought he meant clarify with me. My thumb had slipped onto the button without thinking about it, a habit from when I used to record interviews for work.
I must have left it running when my eyes closed.
My breath caught. I turned the phone just enough that the glow wouldn't hit the men behind me. My thumb hovered over the waveform.
The older man's voice came through the speaker at low volume, tinny but clear enough that I held the phone closer to my ear and angled my body away.
"...no one mentions the gala donor incident outside this room. Is that understood?"
Then the man in the black suit, quieter, right over me: "She won't remember the details. I'll tell her she misunderstood."
The blond man: "And if she checks—"
Older man again: "She doesn't check. She was out. We keep it that way."
The recording clicked faintly as someone shifted near the side table. My own breathing was on there too, shallow.
I felt heat rise up my neck. That was why I'd said it. I heard every word. I hadn't meant the last thirty seconds. I'd meant all of it, while I lay there with my eyes closed and they thought I couldn't hear.
The man in the black suit cleared his throat behind me. "Hey," he said softly. "What are you looking at?"
I locked the phone with my thumb. The screen went black. 14:42 frozen underneath.
"Nothing," I said. My voice was hoarse. "Thought I had a message."
I let my hand drop to my chest, phone face-down against the sequins of my dress. My heart was hammering against it. The older man's ring flashed when he uncrossed his arms.
"You okay?" the man in the black suit asked. He was using that concerned voice, the one that was supposed to make me feel taken care of. I recognized it now from the recording. Same tone.
I nodded once, tears still wet on my cheeks. "Just dizzy."
The older man stepped forward half a step, his hand resting on the back of the couch. "You gave us a scare," he said. His voice was even, controlled. "You fainted right after the toast. We moved you here so you could lie down."
I knew that wasn't true. I remembered standing by the crystal lamp, the vase of white roses next to it, and him saying the donor's wife had been upset. I remembered the chandelier tilting.
But I didn't say that. I tightened my fingers around the phone.
The blond man finally spoke, not looking at me. "Do you want water?"
I shook my head. If I let any of them take the phone to be helpful, they'd see the red bar. If I played it to prove I wasn't crazy, they'd have time to talk their way out of it before anyone else heard it. My thumb slid over the side button and I pressed lock again, just to be sure.
The man in the black suit leaned closer, his fist still on the couch. "You said you heard every word," he said, trying to smile. "What did you think you heard, baby?"
I looked up at him then. His eyes were searching my face for how much damage there was to fix.
"Just... you all talking about me," I whispered. I let my eyes fill up again. It wasn't hard. "I thought you were mad I messed up the gala."
Something in his shoulders relaxed. Behind him, the older man exchanged a glance with the blond man. I caught it in the gold-framed mirror on the wall.
"Not mad," the man in the black suit said quickly. "You misunderstand everything. We were worried about you."
There it was again. The same line, now delivered to my face instead of over my unconscious body.
I turned the phone over in my hand once, screen still dark, and slipped it under the edge of my dress where my palm could cover it. The weight of it was the only thing that felt solid.
"Okay," I said.
May you like
The older man nodded like that settled it. "Good. Let's keep this private. No need to bring the foundation into it."
I didn't answer. I held the phone tighter and kept my breathing slow, the way you do when you're trying not to be noticed, even though I was the one lying on the couch with everyone staring.
