Chương 2
He looked at her now with an apology already forming.
“Ms. Hart,” he said, “we need to speak privately.”
“No.” Livia kept her voice level. “We can speak here, with witnesses, or with my attorney present.”
“This is a family matter,” Eleanor said.
“It became a board matter when scholarship money paid the florist.”
The guests nearest them stopped pretending not to listen.
Somebody’s champagne flute made a soft clicking sound against a ring.
Camille stared at Livia. “What did you say?”
Eleanor turned sharply enough for the first imperfection to appear in her composure. “That is a false allegation.”
“It is in the recording.”
“You recorded us?”
Livia shifted one hand beneath her abdomen. The baby had moved again, a slow pressure against her ribs. “I recorded a conversation I was part of.”
Camille looked from Livia to Adrian. “What conversation?”
Adrian’s mouth opened.
A phone chimed somewhere behind Nathan.
Then another.
Mara had not merely sent the audio to a reporter. She had followed the distribution list Livia approved that morning: every trustee of the Rowan Arts Trust, outside counsel, the independent accounting firm that had resigned the previous week, and three parents whose children had been told their conservatory scholarships were delayed because of an unspecified banking problem. Nathan was included because his signature appeared on two payment authorizations. Camille was included because thirty-eight thousand dollars from a youth education account had been paid to the floral designer listed on her wedding invoices.
Eleanor’s phone vibrated inside her gold clutch.
She did not reach for it.
Nathan did.
He read the first lines of the email, then looked at his mother.
“What did you do?”
Eleanor’s face remained calm. “Put that away.”
Nathan’s thumb moved across the screen.
Camille reached for his arm. “Nathan.”
He stepped away from her without looking.
Adrian finally spoke. “Livia, we should go somewhere private.”
She turned to him.
For four years, his voice had been the place she went when the world became too loud. He had used that same low tone in airport lounges when flights were canceled, in emergency rooms when her father had his second stroke, and in their kitchen when two pink lines appeared on a test neither of them had expected to take until after the spring tour. He had always sounded most dependable when he was afraid.
“No,” she said. “You should have done that this afternoon.”
A trustee near the champagne tower answered his phone. An older woman in a navy gown took three steps away from her husband, listened, and pressed two fingers against her mouth.
Nathan opened the audio attachment.
Eleanor moved toward him. “Not here.”
He raised the volume.
At first, the ballroom heard only the hush of the conference room’s ventilation system and the faint scrape of a chair. Then Eleanor’s recorded voice emerged from Nathan’s phone, colder without the cushioning effect of her presence.
“You will sign the statement before the ceremony.”
Livia’s recorded answer followed. “The statement says I authorized the transfers.”
“You had access.”
“I had rehearsal access.”
“You had a card.”
“Not to the finance floor.”
A pause. The sound of paper sliding across a table.
Then Adrian’s voice.
“Eleanor, this isn’t the way to handle it.”
“Then give me another way that protects the trust before eight hundred people arrive downstairs.”
Camille’s face drained of color.
On the recording, Livia said, “You used scholarship money for this wedding.”
Eleanor replied, “The money was moved temporarily. No child lost a place.”
“Three students were told not to come Monday.”
“They will be restored when the bridge financing clears.”
“And if I don’t sign?”
A longer pause followed.
When Eleanor answered, her voice was almost gentle.
“Camille will find a restricted card in your clutch. Security will find that you entered an office after your authorization was revoked. Your phone will be retained while the matter is reviewed. By the time anyone hears your version, you will be the pregnant musician who stole from the family that funded her career.”
The audio ended.
No one in the ballroom spoke.
The quartet had stopped playing. Livia had not noticed when.
A server stood near the wall holding a tray of untouched champagne. One glass trembled against another. Beyond him, the cream panels and golden wall lamps looked unchanged, absurdly elegant. The floral arrangements still leaned in carefully designed asymmetry. The champagne tower reflected the chandeliers. Somewhere behind the tall curtains, an air vent clicked on.
Camille turned toward Eleanor.
“You said she stole it.”
Eleanor lowered her voice. “Not now.”
“You said Adrian found the access logs.”
“Camille.”
“You said she had been threatening Nathan.”
Nathan looked at his bride. “She had been what?”
Camille pressed her lips together.
The brief confidence she had carried through the search was gone, but embarrassment hardened quickly into anger. Livia recognized the change because she had seen it in musicians after a missed entrance: the instant when shame became blame.
“She came to my rehearsal dinner,” Camille said. “She pulled Adrian away twice. She kept asking Nathan about the trust. Mother said she was trying to cause a scene.”
“I was asking why the scholarship transfers carried Nathan’s authorization.”
Nathan looked at Livia. “You had copies?”
“Not anymore.”
Eleanor lifted the black card. “This is still evidence of unauthorized access.”
Mr. Perez, the security supervisor, cleared his throat.
Everyone turned toward him.
He looked deeply unhappy. “Mrs. Rowan, that card should be placed in an evidence sleeve. It has been handled by several people.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.
Nathan gave a humorless sound that might have been a laugh. “Listen to him.”
Camille folded her arms across the draped neckline of her gown. “So that’s it? She releases an edited recording in the middle of our reception and suddenly she’s innocent?”
“No,” Livia said. “It means you do not get to search me again.”
The pressure beneath her ribs tightened. She drew a slow breath through her nose.
May you like
Adrian noticed.
His hand lifted, then stopped at his side. “Are you all right?”
