Chương 7
“That possibility is why people call.”
He lifted the bag. “Bagels.”
Nora let him in.
He removed his coat and looked around as though the apartment might reveal what she had done during the hours he was not supervising her. The cold noodles remained on the counter. One sneaker lay beside the couch; the other was near the kitchen table.
“You slept in the uniform,” he said.
“I did not sleep.”
“That is worse.”
He set breakfast on the counter.
Nora opened the bag. “You got cinnamon raisin.”
“You liked them.”
“When I was twelve.”
“I cannot be expected to track every reversal.”
She chose plain.
Edward poured coffee into two chipped mugs though he had brought disposable cups. He disliked drinking through plastic lids. Some preferences survived wealth, grief, and public scandal.
“The video has two million views,” he said.
“I know.”
“The board meets at nine.”
“I know.”
“Celeste’s counsel contacted us.”
“I forwarded the letter.”
He looked at her. “At two sixteen.”
“I was awake.”
“I gathered that from the time.”
Nora spread cream cheese across the bagel, leaving the center hole perfectly clean. Her mother used to say she ate as though preparing evidence.
“Celeste threatened the pledge,” she said.
Edward’s face remained still. “In writing?”
“On the phone.”
“Was anyone present?”
“Elena was beside me but couldn’t hear her.”
“Did you record it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because secretly recording people creates more complications than it resolves, even when it is lawful.”
“I wasn’t considering it.”
“You will.”
She set down the knife. “You do that.”
“What?”
“Answer questions I haven’t asked because you assume I’ll eventually ask them badly.”
He sat at the small kitchen table.
“I’m trying to help.”
“I know.”
“You say that like an accusation.”
“Sometimes it is.”
Edward turned his mug between his hands. “The board will want you recused.”
“From what?”
“Any decision concerning Celeste.”
“Because I was the person she targeted?”
“Because you are the person she targeted.”
“That would mean employees lose authority the moment mistreatment becomes personal.”
“It means boards consider conflicts.”
“It means donors know they can remove decision-makers by attacking them.”
“I am not saying you should agree.”
“You’re preparing me to lose.”
“I am preparing you to recognize the argument.”
Nora picked up the knife again, though the bagel was finished.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want Celeste removed from the grants committee, barred from events, and reported to the board of her family trust.”
“That’s what you want as chairman?”
“No.”
He looked at the faint marks on her wrist.
“As your father.”
“And as chairman?”
“I want a documented process that reaches the same result.”
She sat across from him.
“What if the trust withdraws the money?”
“We replace it.”
“With what?”
“Unrestricted reserves.”
“We have eighteen months of operating cushion. Using two million cuts that nearly in half.”
“Then we raise more.”
“That isn’t a plan.”
“It is the beginning of one.”
“You spent my entire childhood telling me never to fund recurring services with emergency reserves.”
“I also told you not to climb the pear tree.”
“One of those was governance.”
“Both involved foreseeable falls.”
She looked at him until he looked away.
“I met with Claire’s attorney yesterday,” Edward said.
Nora’s hand stopped.
“My mother’s attorney?”
“He is my attorney now. That is less interesting.”
“Why?”
“To revise the estate documents.”
She waited.
“I am transferring voting control of the foundation board to an independent trust,” he said. “Effective at the end of the year.”
Nora stared at him.
The foundation had always been structured around the family. Edward chaired the board and retained appointment power over a majority of its seats. Nora had argued for years that the arrangement undermined public confidence and made her position look inherited even when the board technically hired her.
He had always replied that family control preserved mission.
“Why now?”
“Because Celeste called me and assumed I could replace you.”
“You can.”
“I should not be able to.”
Nora leaned back.
“You decided this six weeks ago.”
“I began considering it.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I wanted the legal structure complete.”
“You keep hiding things to protect my judgment.”
“I keep trying not to place every burden on you before it is necessary.”
“That is how you describe it.”
“How would you describe it?”
“Managing me.”
He pressed his lips together.
Nora looked at the coffee, the breakfast bag, the man who had arrived without calling because he assumed she would not answer.
“Do you trust me?” she asked.
“With the foundation?”
“With anything.”
Edward’s face changed, but not quickly enough to spare her.
“I trust your principles,” he said.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I trust your intelligence.”
“Still not.”
“I worry about your appetite for cost.”
She waited.
“You will pay almost anything to avoid feeling compromised,” he continued. “Your own comfort. Relationships. Money that does not belong to you. Sometimes the consequences belong to other people.”
Nora thought of Dr. Bailey’s message. The counselors not yet hired. Tomas asking her not to make his complaint into something.
“And you,” she said, “will tolerate almost anything if you can call it stability.”
“Yes.”
The answer quieted her.
Edward looked tired. Not old, exactly. She disliked noticing the difference.
“That is my failure,” he said. “It has also kept this institution alive.”
“And damaged people inside it.”
“Yes.”
Neither of them ate for a while.
A truck reversed in the street below, beeping at regular intervals.
At eight forty-five, Nora changed into a navy suit. She removed the gold name badge from the gray uniform and placed it on the kitchen table.
Edward picked it up.
“Why do you wear this?” he asked.
“People should know my name.”
“They usually do.”
“That’s the problem.”
He turned the badge over. A small scratch crossed one corner.
“Your mother hated name badges,” he said.
“She hated networking.”
“She once wore someone else’s badge for an entire luncheon.”
May you like
“Whose?”
“Margaret.”
