Chương 5
She had considered this one of the property’s best features.
Richard stood in her old room at two in the morning.
Nothing about it had been preserved sentimentally. Anna had taken most of her belongings when she left. The room had been redecorated years later into a guest bedroom no guest seemed to want.
Only the closet door remained original.
There was a faint gouge near the bottom where Anna had once rammed a suitcase wheel into it.
Richard touched the mark.
He had not been in the room for months.
Maybe years.
His phone vibrated.
Victoria.
He let it ring.
A minute later she called again.
He answered.
“What?”
Her breath came through quickly.
“Thank God.”
“What do you want?”
“I need you to hear me before people turn tonight into something it wasn’t.”
Richard looked at the gouge in the closet door.
“What was it?”
“I made a mistake.”
“You kicked food away from a hungry child.”
“I thought she had gotten in from the street.”
“She had.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
Victoria went quiet.
That irritated her more than anger would have.
“I’m being destroyed online.”
“It’s been three hours.”
“My phone won’t stop.”
“Turn it off.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Richard leaned against the wall.
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why did you do it?”
“She wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“That explains why you wanted her removed. It doesn’t explain the kick.”
Victoria breathed out.
“You want me to say I’m horrible.”
“I want an answer.”
“I was stressed. Donors were complaining about the seating. The governor’s office changed their arrival time. Catering was behind. We had people slipping into restricted areas all night. Then there was this child standing in the middle of everything looking like—”
She stopped.
Richard waited.
“Looking like what?”
Victoria’s voice lowered.
“Like she didn’t belong.”
Richard closed his eyes.
There it was.
Clean and simple.
Not a secret plot.
Not a misunderstanding.
A belief.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “you will not enter the foundation offices.”
Victoria’s tone changed.
“You’re suspending me?”
“Pending a board review.”
“You can’t do that unilaterally.”
“I can request it. The board can decide.”
“Richard, I have spent eleven years building that foundation.”
“And eleven seconds may have shown us something we should have noticed earlier.”
“That is not fair.”
Richard almost laughed.
The word sounded obscene tonight.
“Good night, Victoria.”
“Wait.”
He remained silent.
Her voice became smaller.
“Is she really Anna’s?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t even know Anna had a child.”
“Neither did I.”
That silence hurt more.
Victoria spoke carefully.
“Richard, what happened between you and Anna was not my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You’re acting like tonight is connected to all of that.”
“It is.”
“How?”
Richard looked around the empty bedroom.
Because Anna’s daughter had entered a ballroom carrying bread in a paper bag while people whose salaries he indirectly paid watched her be humiliated.
Because his granddaughter had traveled alone across a city after her mother died rather than trust that a man named Richard Hale would come if she called.
Because Anna had apparently prepared Lily for the possibility that he would be controlling before she prepared her for the possibility that he would be kind.
Because none of those things had begun tonight.
“I’ll see you at the board meeting,” Richard said.
He ended the call.
At seven the next morning, Richard’s attorney arrived carrying coffee and bad news.
Mara Greene had represented Richard for nineteen years and had stopped being impressed by his dining room sometime during year two.
“You cannot simply collect a grandchild,” she said, opening a folder.
“I did not say collect.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘Have them transfer her to me today.’”
“I was tired.”
“You were imperious.”
“That too.”
Mara drank coffee.
Richard looked at the folder.
“What have you found?”
“Anna Carter. Born Anna Elizabeth Hale. Marriage record to Daniel Carter twelve years ago. Daniel died eight years ago in a construction accident in Ohio.”
Richard looked up.
He had not known.
Mara watched him carefully.
“Lily Anna Carter, born nine years ago. Anna is listed as mother. Daniel is listed as father.”
Richard sat back.
A granddaughter had existed for nine years on documents anyone could have found.
He had not looked.
Mara continued.
“Anna lived in Ohio, Pennsylvania, then Maryland. She moved here approximately six months ago.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“Employment?”
“Administrative work for a dental practice until October. Then medical leave.”
Richard looked toward the window.
“What did she die from?”
“I don’t have permission to access medical records.”
Richard glanced at her.
Mara raised an eyebrow.
“Was that expression supposed to change the law?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Richard rubbed his face.
“What do I have to do?”
“Child welfare wants a background check, home assessment, references, and an interview.”
“Fine.”
“And Lily’s wishes matter.”
“She’s nine.”
“Yes.”
“She traveled across the city alone.”
“Yes.”
“She needs stability.”
“Yes.”
Richard waited.
Mara closed the folder.
“Those statements do not mean she needs you immediately.”
He hated her for being right before breakfast.
By ten thirty, Richard was standing outside a small brick house in Silver Spring with two security vehicles parked far enough away to annoy him.
Denise Alvarez opened the door.
“You came with a convoy.”
“Two cars.”
“That is a convoy to a nine-year-old.”
Richard looked toward the vehicles.
One of his security officers pretended not to notice.
Richard took out his phone.
“Leave one.”
Both officers looked at him.
“One car. Park around the corner.”
Denise stepped aside.
“Better.”
The foster mother was named Gloria Ortiz.
She was fifty-two, wore blue scrubs because she had just returned from an overnight shift at a rehabilitation hospital, and seemed profoundly unimpressed by wealth.
Lily sat at the kitchen table eating cereal.
Richard’s charcoal coat hung over the back of her chair.
He noticed that first.
Then he noticed the paper bag beside her.
May you like
The hotel bag.
Gloria had taped the tear.
