Chapter 9 - What She Said She Saw
The meeting room on the foundation tower's fourteenth floor was too cold. That was the first thing I noticed. Glass walls, a long oak table, downtown spread out white and bright behind the blinds. A carafe of water nobody touched. The planner from the gala sat near the door with her laptop open, fingers hovering like she didn't want to type the wrong thing.
I still had his jacket on. I'd folded the sleeves back twice so my hands would show. It hung past my hips and smelled faintly like his cologne and ballroom air.
She came in last. The red-haired woman wore a cream blouse and dark pants now, her hair pulled smooth over one shoulder. No green gown, no lights, but she walked in like she still owned the room. She didn't look at me at first. She looked at him.
"This shouldn't need lawyers," she said. "I want an apology and I want your jacket back. Today."
The man stood at the head of the table. He hadn't shaved that morning. His black shirt was the same one from the corridor, pressed now but familiar enough that my chest tightened when I saw it.
"No," he said. "Sit down. Say what happened."
The planner cleared her throat. "For the record, I'm just here to keep notes for the foundation. Go ahead."
The red-haired woman sat across from me. Then she finally looked at me.
"She grabbed my glass for herself," she said. "Off my table. I saw her do it. I'd barely touched my champagne and this girl comes through with her tray and takes it like she was thirsty or stealing or whatever maids do when they think nobody's watching."
My hands went cold under the table. I kept my eyes on the water carafe so I wouldn't shake.
"That's not—" I started, then stopped. I breathed in once through my nose. The planner's keys clicked softly.
He watched me. "Let her finish," he said. Not unkind. Just controlled.
"I called her on it," the red-haired woman went on. "In the corridor. I told her to look at her place. She started crying to get his attention. That's when he stepped in and made it a scene. He broke our engagement over a thief."
"You said you barely touched your champagne," he said.
"I'd ordered a fresh glass. I hadn't sipped yet. She took it before I could."
Something in my stomach dropped, quiet and hard. Because I remembered the tray. I remembered the weight of it. I remembered setting that tall coupe down near her elbow and later lifting a different one away. And I remembered watching from three tables over while she talked and laughed with the donors, her hand moving past the glass again and again without ever lifting it.
I hadn't planned to speak. But my voice came out before I could stop it.
"She never sipped after the swap," I said.
The room went still. The planner stopped typing.
The red-haired woman turned on me. "Excuse me?"
I looked down at my folded sleeves. "The glass on your table. After it was switched. You never drank from it. You kept talking. Your hand went near it twice, but you didn't pick it up."
"You're admitting you switched it?" she said fast. "You just admitted it."
"I took a glass off your table," I said. "Yes."
He held up a hand. His eyes never left her face. "Who ordered the drink?"
She blinked. "What?"
"You said you ordered a fresh glass," he said. "Just now. At the gala you told staff your fiance ordered for you. Which was it?"
I saw it happen. A half-second pause. Her mouth opened, then pressed shut.
"I don't see how that matters," she said. "He — you — always ordered for me. Everyone knows that. I meant it was for me. It was mine."
"It matters who handed it to her," he said. "It matters who asked for that pour."
The planner shifted in her chair. "I can pull the bar tickets for that window," she said quietly. "If you want me to. We log VIP table orders by time."
"Do it," he said.
The red-haired woman laughed once, sharp. "You're taking her word over mine? A girl in a uniform wearing your jacket like a costume?"
He didn't answer that. He just stood there with his hands flat on the table.
She stood too. She picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. Her cheeks had gone pink, but her voice stayed level.
"Fine. Pull your tickets. But if you try to bury this to protect her, I'll call our family lawyer. I swear I will. He'll hear how you humiliated me in front of two hundred people for a maid who steals glasses."
She walked to the door. She stopped with her hand on the frame and looked back at me.
"Take that jacket off," she said. "You look ridiculous."
May you like
I didn't move. I felt the weight of it on my shoulders, too big and too warm for that cold room, and I kept it on.
The door clicked shut behind her. The planner exhaled like she'd been holding her breath the whole time. Outside the glass, traffic crawled soundless far below.
