Chương 7
Nora closed her eyes.
Jo said, “Come at nine. Use the back entrance.”
By the time Nora arrived, two freelance photographers waited across the street.
Neither publication they named was one she recognized.
She entered through the alley and found Jo at the worktable with an attorney named Calvin Reese. Calvin had a soft voice, a navy suit, and the habit of removing his glasses before saying anything unpleasant.
The blue accounting folder lay open between them.
Nora looked at the space beneath the cash drawer.
“You moved it.”
Jo said, “Sit down.”
“What happened?”
Calvin removed his glasses.
The folder contained the original printed invoice, but the revised version was missing.
“So print it again,” Nora said.
Jo’s eyes were red. “The email thread is gone from the shop account.”
Nora stared at her.
“It was there yesterday.”
“I know.”
“Who has access?”
“Me, you, and our contract bookkeeper.”
“I didn’t delete it.”
“I’m not saying you did.”
Calvin put his glasses back on. “The account log shows someone signed in at eleven-forty-six last night using Jo’s credentials.”
Jo looked sick.
“From where?” Nora asked.
“The provider won’t give us precise location information without a legal request. It lists a mobile device.”
“Did you log in?”
“No.”
Nora thought of the reception, the open service corridor, Jo’s bag beneath the terrace worktable. Jo kept passwords in a notebook because she distrusted password managers. Nora had teased her about it for years.
“Your notebook,” Nora said.
Jo looked toward the office.
They found it in the top desk drawer.
The page containing the email password had been torn out.
Calvin advised them not to touch anything else.
At ten, Daniel called Nora directly.
She almost did not answer. Then she saw Jo watching.
“Hello?”
“I’m sorry about the video,” he said.
His voice sounded different over the phone. Less controlled. “We’re trying to identify who posted it.”
“The account won’t correct the caption.”
“We sent them the security recording.”
Nora stood. “You what?”
“Only the relevant portion. It shows you didn’t cause the spill.”
“I told you I didn’t want to be in a video.”
“It hasn’t been published.”
“You sent it to strangers.”
“To their editor, with a request for correction.”
“You said you would discuss it with me.”
A silence.
“Yes,” Daniel said. “I did.”
Jo motioned for the phone.
Nora turned away.
Daniel continued, “I was trying to prevent the false version from spreading.”
“You were trying to fix it quickly.”
“Yes.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
His willingness to agree made it harder to sustain the anger cleanly.
She said, “Someone deleted the invoice emails from our account last night.”
Another silence, shorter this time.
“Do you have copies?”
“Our lawyer is checking backups.”
“Vivienne’s foundation access was suspended at nine-fifty.”
“She didn’t need foundation access to get into our email.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
The word sharpened.
Nora pictured him in the villa, perhaps still wearing yesterday’s clothes, surrounded by people who took instructions the first time. She wondered how often understanding and control had meant the same thing to him.
He said, “Marisol found the revised invoice in the foundation’s document system. It was uploaded from Luis Ortega’s account.”
Nora remembered Luis in the service corridor. “Did he change it?”
“We don’t know. He isn’t answering his phone.”
“Vivienne threatened him.”
“I saw the gesture.”
“He asked me about the invoice before the reception.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Nora repeated the conversation.
Daniel listened without interruption.
When she finished, he said, “Would you speak with the attorney conducting the review?”
“I have an attorney.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“No.”
She leaned against the worktable. “What happens to the foundation payments?”
“The event account is frozen.”
Jo made a sound behind her.
Daniel heard it. “Your original invoice will be paid from my personal account today.”
“That makes it look like you’re paying us off.”
“It pays for work you completed.”
“Through the foundation contract.”
“The foundation’s finance committee has to authorize the payment while the account is frozen. That could take several days.”
“Then it takes several days.”
“Nora—”
“No.”
She surprised herself with the force of it.
“If the foundation owes us money, the foundation pays us. Not you.”
Jo covered her face with both hands.
Daniel was quiet.
Then he said, “All right.”
After the call ended, Jo stared at Nora.
“We have twenty-eight hundred dollars in checking.”
“I know.”
“Payroll is Friday.”
“I know.”
“The foundation owes us twenty-one thousand eight hundred.”
“I know.”
“And you just told a man offering to pay it today that we prefer procedural integrity.”
“He offered personal money.”
“It spends the same.”
Calvin lifted one hand. “It may be better not to accept direct payment while the billing dispute is under review.”
Jo turned on him. “Do you have employees?”
“No.”
“Then don’t use the phrase ‘may be better’ like it’s free.”
Nora picked up a bundle of eucalyptus and carried it to the cooler, though it did not need moving.
At noon, the society account changed its caption.
Video from last night’s Mercer reception appears to show disagreement over an accident involving event staff.
The word “spills” disappeared. The implication did not.
At one, a hotel canceled a consultation with Lark & Stem.
At two, a bride’s mother called to ask whether Nora would be present at her daughter’s wedding. Jo answered that staffing decisions were confidential. The mother said she did not want “controversy” distracting from the day.
At three, a box arrived containing Nora’s ruined dress, professionally cleaned and folded.
A card inside read:
I am sorry I acted without your permission. The dress could not be restored. A replacement has been ordered through the designer.
There was no signature.
Nora held the card over the trash, then put it in her pocket.
May you like
Daniel found Luis that afternoon in the parking garage beneath the foundation’s downtown office.
Luis sat in his car with the engine off, staring at a phone that would not stop lighting up.
