Chương 7
They had not announced that the baby was a girl. Eleanor knew because Adrian had told her after the anatomy scan, despite Livia asking him to keep it private. Camille had sent a cashmere blanket the next day in a box large enough to hold a lamp.
Adrian gripped the edge of the counter.
“I want to be there.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“You were there last night.”
He looked at her as if she had struck him.
Livia regretted the sentence immediately.
Regret did not make it untrue.
Adrian left without the ring.
Two days later, the trust’s attorneys sent Livia a demand letter accusing her of retaining confidential information, interfering with donor relationships, and making defamatory statements. The letter instructed her to preserve all devices and refrain from further publication. It also offered a confidential meeting to resolve “mutual misunderstandings.”
Mara read it twice and said, “They are inviting you to negotiate before the board meets.”
“What do they want?”
“Your original recording, a retraction, and silence.”
“In exchange for what?”
“Reinstatement of your contract. Payment of legal fees. A public statement saying the confrontation resulted from confusion.”
“They framed me in front of eight hundred people.”
“They are aware.”
Livia stood in Mara’s office overlooking Sixth Avenue, one hand supporting the base of her spine. Her pale blue maternity sweater had begun to pill at the cuffs. She had slept badly for three nights and discovered that pregnancy made indignation physically exhausting.
“What happens to the scholarship money?” she asked.
Mara glanced at the letter. “It does not mention the scholarships.”
“Then there is no meeting.”
“There may need to be. Refusing to speak is not the same as holding leverage.”
“I thought the recording was leverage.”
“It was protection. Leverage requires proof of the underlying transfers.”
“We have invoice numbers.”
“We have numbers you saw briefly and names you remember. We need documents, bank records, or a witness with direct knowledge.”
“Nathan.”
“Has not answered.”
“Adrian.”
“Has retained his own lawyer.”
Livia looked out at the traffic. A cyclist struck the side of a taxi with his palm and shouted something the glass muted. Pedestrians carried coffee and umbrellas, stepping around one another without looking up.
“What if the money really was going back Monday?” she asked.
Mara leaned against her desk. “Then the board will still need to decide whether unauthorized transfers occurred.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No.”
Livia pressed her fingers into the soft edge of the sweater.
If the financing had closed, the students would have been paid. Iris might have lost her original room, but another arrangement could have been found. The trust would continue. The orchestra would keep its funding. The wedding video would become a strange scandal people forgot when the next one arrived.
She would still know what Adrian had accepted.
She would still know Eleanor had chosen her because pregnancy, gratitude, and professional dependence made her appear containable.
But private knowledge harmed fewer people.
Mara watched her. “This is where they expect you to become reasonable.”
“I am reasonable.”
“You are. That is why it may work.”
The board meeting was scheduled for Friday.
On Thursday morning, Camille arrived at Livia’s apartment without warning.
She wore dark trousers, a cream coat, and large sunglasses despite the overcast sky. Her hair was no longer arranged in a bridal chignon. Loose strands had escaped near her temples. Without the white gown and veil, she looked younger, though not softer.
Livia spoke through the half-open door. “How did you get upstairs?”
“The doorman knows me.”
“Not anymore.”
Camille removed the sunglasses. Her eyes were swollen, but she had applied concealer carefully beneath them.
“I need five minutes.”
“No.”
“You released a recording of my mother on my wedding night.”
“Your mother planted evidence in my purse.”
“I did not know she planted it.”
“You knew you were supposed to search me.”
“I thought the card was yours.”
“Why?”
“Because she showed me the access log.”
“What access log?”
Camille hesitated. “A printout. Your name, the east gallery office, eleven forty-two Thursday night.”
Livia had been home Thursday night, sitting on the bathroom floor while Adrian assembled the first section of the wooden train. She remembered because the baby had kicked hard enough for him to feel it through both hands.
“Did you keep the printout?”
“No.”
“Did Nathan see it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask where it came from?”
Camille’s mouth tightened. “Mother does not fabricate access records.”
“She fabricated a reason to search me.”
“I know that now.”
Livia waited.
Camille looked past her into the apartment and saw the train set on the table. “May I come in?”
“No.”
A flicker of offense crossed her face, almost comic in its reflexiveness.
Then she looked down the hall.
“Nathan left,” she said.
Livia said nothing.
“He checked into a hotel Sunday night. He has not spoken to me except through his attorney.”
“You have been married four days.”
“I can count.”
“Why are you here?”
Camille raised her eyes. “The recording makes it sound as though I knew the entire plan.”
“You participated.”
“I believed you had entered the executive office and taken documents.”
“So you decided to expose me in a ballroom.”
“You came to my wedding carrying evidence against my family.”
“I came to perform.”
“You came with a lawyer waiting for a command.”
“Because your mother threatened me.”
Camille’s face sharpened. “Do you enjoy this?”
“What?”
“Being the calm one. Standing there while everyone else looks cruel or hysterical.”
Livia almost closed the door.
Camille placed one hand against it. She did not push, but the gesture was enough.
“I watched that video,” she said. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you picked up the phone.”
“I knew what I had arranged.”
May you like
“You made sure the worst moment of my life could be distributed in seconds.”
“The worst moment of your life was not the moment someone pulled down your dress and emptied your belongings onto the floor.”
