Chapter 8 - The Weight of an Unraveling Secret
Evelyn looked between Clara and me, her clipboard slipping slightly in her grip. The polished veneer of corporate charity charity gala culture seemed to crack right down the middle, exposing the hollow anxiety beneath.
"Knows what, Clara?" Evelyn demanded, her voice dropping into a harsh, hissed whisper. "What on earth are you talking about? The press are downstairs waiting for the maternity ward announcement photos."
"There is no maternity ward announcement," I said, stepping between the two women to create a buffer against the open doorway of the ballroom. "Clara fabricated the pregnancy to secure her position in the family trust before the year-end audit. The board's bylaws require a direct heir to release the primary estate funds."
Clara winced, her fingers digging into the satin fabric of her hip. "You don't understand. My uncle's will was rigged against me from the start. If I didn't produce an heir—or at least the illusion of one—the entire estate would have gone to a corporate liquidator. I would have been left with nothing."
"That doesn't give you the right to turn a charity gala into a stage production," Evelyn hissed, stepping forward with venom in her eyes. "You've made fools of every major donor in this city. If the press gets hold of this, the foundation's name will be mud. We'll be a laughingstock from coast to coast."
"The foundation's name will survive," I said firmly, my patience wearing thin. "What won't survive is our integrity if we try to cover it up and pretend a three-year-old child hallucinated what she saw."
Lily watched the adults argue from her seat on the velvet bench, swinging her patent-leather shoes gently against the wooden legs. She looked up at the waitress, who gave her a reassuring, conspiratorial nod.
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"Can we go home now, Mommy?" Lily asked loudly, her sweet, clear voice cutting through the adult crossfire like a glass cutter.
Her mother, having finally made her way back from the coat check carrying a small wool coat and a matching blue handbag, knelt beside the bench and gathered Lily into her arms. "In a minute, sweetheart. Just let the nice man finish talking."
