“Company counsel.”
“Hang up.”
Richard did not.
My mother finally moved.
Brenda came beside Thomas and put one hand on his shoulder.
She looked at me, and for the first time that night her expression contained something other than embarrassment.
Fear.
“Caroline,” she said softly, “can this be fixed?”
I thought of all the times she had asked me to fix something while pretending nothing was wrong.
A tax notice.
A contract.
An argument.
A holiday dinner.
My father’s temper.
Stephanie’s demands.
She had always meant: Can you make the consequences disappear?
“No,” I said.
“It has to be investigated.”
Thomas opened his eyes.
“You already reported it.”
It was not a question.
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
Terrence swore under his breath.
Stephanie turned slowly toward me.
“When?”
“When I had enough documentation to know it wasn’t an accounting error.”
My father pushed away from the table.
“You reported my company without telling me?”
There it was again—the instinct to make my action the betrayal.
I kept my voice level.
“I warned you before I reported anything.
More than once.
You told me I was jealous of Terrence.
You told me to stay in my lane.”
Thomas looked down.
I continued, “So I did.
Forensic accounting is my lane.”
Someone near the back of the ballroom coughed to hide a laugh.
Terrence started toward the exit.
David stepped aside rather than blocking him.
That surprised Terrence.
“You’re not going to stop me?” he asked.
David’s expression did not change.
“I’m not law enforcement.”
Terrence looked toward the ballroom doors.
Then at the folder.
Then back at David.
The meaning reached him.
Leaving did not erase accounts.
It did not erase bank records.
It did not erase copies already preserved elsewhere.
He returned to Stephanie instead and lowered his voice.
“Come with me.”
She did not move.
“Stephanie.”
