Chapter 14 - The Board Wants an Answer
The foundation tower office was too cold. That was the first thing I noticed when I walked in at nine that morning, my heels clicking too loud on the polished floor. The air conditioning hummed against the glass walls, and downtown spread out gray and flat below us. Margaret Hale was already seated at the head of the conference table, her reading glasses on, a manila folder squared perfectly in front of her.
She didn't stand up. She didn't offer coffee. She just looked at me over those glasses and said, "Close the door, Elena."
I did. My blue dress from the gala was hanging in a garment bag in my closet at home, but I could still feel it on me, strapless and exposed, the way Daniel had looked at me in it.
Margaret opened the folder. First she slid out the printed ballroom photo. It was the donor shot. Me in the center, smiling, and just over my left shoulder Daniel Reyes, his tattoos and silver cross sharp in the chandelier light. Behind them, half-cropped, the server with the black fabric over his face, hands at his chest.
Then she placed a second sheet beside it. A photocopy of the catering cash receipt. Two thousand dollars. Paid in full. No name.
"Our auditor flagged this," she said. "A masked staff member, paid in cash outside payroll. And this man." She tapped Daniel's face with one manicured nail. "Three board members have called me this morning asking who he is. So I'm asking you."
I sat down. My breathing felt loud in that quiet room. I folded my hands to keep them still.
I could have lied again. For three days I'd been lying - to my husband on the phone, to the event manager, to myself in the mirror. But Margaret had known me for six years. She'd recruited me after my second fundraiser. Lying to her now would only buy an hour.
"I know him from back home," I said. My voice paused. "His name is Daniel Reyes. We grew up in the same town."
Margaret didn't blink. "Go on."
"He didn't crash the gala. I saw him at the door and I let him stay because I didn't want a scene in front of donors." That part was true enough that my throat didn't catch. "I take responsibility for that. I should have flagged it to security."
"And the server?" She pushed the receipt forward.
I looked at the paper. The handwriting was blocky, rushed. Paid cash - private server request.
"That was a hiring lapse under my oversight," I said. "The catering company took a last-minute private request attached to a guest. They didn't vet it through us. I found out that night and I didn't shut it down fast enough because the floor was full and the photographer was already shooting."
It wasn't the whole truth. I didn't say the cousin part. I didn't say warrant. I kept Daniel's ask locked behind my teeth - that he hadn't come to ruin me, only to be acknowledged, only to settle what my brother's wreck had cost him. Saying that in this glass room would have turned it into a liability memo.
Margaret leaned back. She studied me for a long moment, and I heard the clock ticking on the wall, the low hum of traffic twelve stories down.
"Elena," she said, quieter now, "you've raised four million dollars for this foundation. I trust your judgment. But trust doesn't survive an audit. If the press picks up a photo of a masked man serving champagne at our charity gala next to an unlisted guest with face tattoos, they won't write about our scholarships. They'll write about negligence."
"I understand."
"You have twenty-four hours," she said. "I need a clean staffing explanation from the caterer in writing. I need that young man's identity verified for payroll compliance. And I need Mr. Reyes to either confirm he was an invited guest of yours in a signed statement, or to stay completely out of our events going forward. No middle ground."
She closed the folder. That sound - cardboard on wood - landed harder than any yell.
"If you can't produce that by tomorrow at nine, I'll have to ask you to step down from the board pending review."
I nodded. My mouth was dry. "I'll fix it."
She stood then, finally, and came around the table. She put a hand briefly on my shoulder. It was warm against the cold air.
May you like
"Fix it privately," she said. "That's all I'm asking."
I walked out of that conference room with the copies in my tote bag, the elevator dropping too fast, my reflection fractured in the steel doors. Twenty-four hours to get Daniel and his cousin to sign papers that could expose them, or lose the seat I'd spent six years building. I pulled out my phone in the parking garage and stared at Daniel's number on my screen, my thumb hovering, my breath fogging slightly in the concrete chill.
