“You gave my seat away.”
“It was a seating error.”
“You told me to sit in a chair that didn’t exist.”
Sloane shifted at last, but she still did not stand.
“I’m sure no one meant to upset you.”
Mia looked directly at her.
“You picked up a card with my full name on it and asked whether it was mine.”
Sloane’s lips parted.
Nothing came out.
I clicked the first folder on the drive.
The projector illuminated the wall behind Table Twelve.
There were no dramatic photographs.
No private images.
Nothing salacious.
Only invoices.
Clean, numbered, company invoices.
The first showed a three-night hotel stay listed as executive client development.
The reservation was under Preston’s name.
The second guest was identified only by the initials S.M.
The next showed a diamond bracelet categorized as a donor-relations gift.
Another showed monthly payments for a Back Bay apartment labeled temporary corporate housing.
Sloane found her voice.
“I worked for the company.
Those expenses were approved.”
“By Preston,” I said.
“He was the chief executive.”
“He was also sleeping in the apartment.”
Her face tightened.
“You cannot prove that.”
I opened the next file.
A series of access records appeared.
The apartment building used electronic keys for residents and guests.
Preston’s company credentials had been used repeatedly, often after midnight.
A second credential assigned to Sloane appeared on the same dates.
Preston pointed at the wall.
“Turn this off.
Those records are confidential.”
“They are company records,” I replied.
“You charged the apartment to the company.”
He looked around the room as if searching for someone willing to defend him.
The donors who had laughed at his jokes earlier were suddenly fascinated by their water glasses.
Two board members stood near the back wall, no longer pretending they had not been listening.
Sloane pushed her chair away from the table.
At last, Mia’s seat was empty.
But Sloane remained standing beside Preston, still trying to hold herself as if leaving had been her idea.
“This is absurd,” she said.
“Claire is twisting ordinary business expenses because she is jealous.”
“Jealous?” Mia repeated.
Sloane’s eyes flicked toward her.
That single word had been a mistake.
Mia stepped closer to the projection.
The expense list showed dates, merchants, amounts, and approval codes.
She found one before I could stop her.
“October seventeenth,” she said.
Preston’s shoulders stiffened.
Mia looked at him.
