Part 3
Denise appeared with a box of place cards pressed against her chest. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a body?”
“I need five minutes.”
“You have two. Table twelve has become table fourteen, except table fourteen still believes it’s table fourteen.”
Nora looked toward the door Grant had used.
“Denise, if Evelyn arrives, tell her I need to speak to her privately.”
“About what?”
“Scholarship packets.”
Denise frowned. “That sounds less exciting than your face.”
“It isn’t.”
Nora returned to the conservatory because the doors were opening and because work can become a hiding place even when the danger is at work.
She corrected the seating cards. She found a vegetarian entrée for a guest who had selected lamb on the response form and now considered the form morally binding on everyone except herself. She replaced a candle that leaned toward an arrangement of dried grass. She helped a scholarship finalist’s grandmother locate the women’s restroom and waited while the woman explained that modern buildings seemed designed by men who feared signs.
At six twenty-five, Nora checked her phone.
The message to Evelyn still had not delivered.
At six forty, Evelyn’s driver called the main desk. Traffic near Beacon Street had stopped after a bus broke down in an intersection.
At six forty-seven, Thomas sent Nora a screenshot from the portal audit log. The change to Kiara Bell’s award had originated from an administrative device registered to the executive conference room at Mercer Family Holdings.
At six fifty-one, the entry vanished from the system.
Nora stared at the refreshed screen.
The award list now showed Maggie Wren as the unanimous committee selection. Kiara Bell’s name did not appear anywhere.
She checked the document archive. The earlier versions were gone.
Thomas called.
“I saw it,” Nora said.
“I’m trying to reach IT.”
“They can delete audit records?”
“They can hide them from our access. Not necessarily erase them from the server.”
“What do I do?”
“Keep the screenshots.”
“Grant knows I have them.”
“Has he threatened you?”
Nora looked across the conservatory.
Grant stood beside his mother at the head table. Celeste wore a cream beaded gown and a jeweled brooch shaped like a spray of leaves. She was laughing with the president of a regional bank. When Grant noticed Nora looking, he lifted his champagne glass.
“No,” Nora said.
It was the kind of lie people told when the truth had not yet become useful.
Thomas exhaled. “Evelyn needs to know before the awards are announced.”
“I know.”
“Do not confront the Mercers.”
“I already did.”
“Nora.”
“I didn’t plan it.”
“Nobody plans the part they regret later.”
She thought of Thomas standing in a church, whispering into his phone while his family waited nearby. “Go back to your father’s funeral.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with this.”
“You aren’t here.”
The words came out harsher than she intended.
Thomas did not answer.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“No, you’re right.” His voice had changed. “I’m going to call counsel. Find Evelyn. Stay where people can see you.”
The gala began with string music and expensive restraint. Guests lowered their voices automatically when a photographer passed. The foundation’s annual film played across two discreet screens, showing students entering laboratories, libraries, and classrooms while a narrator spoke about access and possibility.
Nora watched from the side of the room.
Kiara Bell appeared in the film for four seconds.
She stood in a high-school chemistry lab wearing protective goggles too large for her face. She laughed when foam rose from a flask and spilled over her gloved hand. The caption beneath her name had been removed from the final cut, but Nora recognized the clip from editing sessions.
At table three, Celeste Mercer watched without expression.
Beside her, Grant typed something on his phone.
Nora’s device vibrated.
An email had arrived from an address she did not recognize. The subject line contained only her name.
The body read: Please come to the east service station. Mrs. Mercer would like to discuss a guest allergy.
Nora nearly ignored it. Then she saw the banquet captain waving toward her from across the room, holding a plate and pointing urgently at Celeste’s table.
Staying where people could see her did not mean much when everyone had agreed not to see.
Celeste was alone when Nora reached the formal dining table. Grant had stepped away. The guests around them were watching the film.
“My son tells me you’re confused,” Celeste said.
Nora remained standing. “About an allergy?”
Celeste smiled. “You’re very literal.”
“I’m responsible for guest safety.”
“How admirable.”
The older woman adjusted the jeweled brooch at her collarbone. Up close, the stones were pale green and perfectly matched. Nora had read in the event notes that it had belonged to Celeste’s mother. She wondered who had entered that detail and why anyone believed the staff needed it.
“Maggie Wren’s father died last year,” Celeste said. “He was a dear friend of our family.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He spent twenty-six years at Mercer Holdings.”
“That doesn’t make her eligible for a scholarship approved through another process.”
Celeste’s smile thinned. “Eligibility is a flexible word.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Everything is flexible when adults are responsible for outcomes.”
Nora felt the blister in her shoe break. A small warm sting spread beneath her toes.
Celeste continued. “Maggie lost her father. Her mother has debt. Yale will not wait for moral clarity.”
“Neither will Kiara’s college.”
“Kiara received other offers.”
“Not a full grant.”
“You’ve made her very real in your mind.”
“She is real.”
Celeste looked toward the screen, where another student spoke about working nights at a grocery store. “You think this is about merit. That is sweet. Merit is how institutions explain the decisions they have already made.”
Nora heard footsteps behind her.
Grant returned carrying a fresh bottle of champagne. “Are we all becoming friends?”
“No,” Nora said.
May you like
He set the bottle into the silver bucket at the edge of the table. “That’s disappointing.”
Celeste’s voice lowered. “Delete the screenshots.”
