Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE SILVER DRESS
“Who wrote that instruction?”
Laurel's question hung in Caleb's office.
Elias North didn't look away from the monitor.
“That's what we're going to determine.”
Caleb closed the transaction window.
“This could be a routine vendor note.”
Laurel turned toward him.
“A routine note telling you to investigate me before I've supposedly done anything wrong?”
Caleb's silence was answer enough.
Elias reached for the mouse, but Laurel stopped him.
“Before anyone changes another screen, I want a copy of that record.”
Caleb looked offended.
“You don't have the authority to demand—”
“Then give it to Mr. North.”
Elias held Caleb's gaze.
“Print it.”
The printer started.
Laurel listened to every page emerge.
For some reason, the sound reminded her of the small apartment she'd shared with Preston.
He used to print investor presentations at midnight.
She would sit beside him, correcting spelling mistakes and checking numbers.
Once, during a terrible winter when his business nearly collapsed, she'd sold a gold bracelet her mother had given her.
The bracelet wasn't particularly expensive.
But it was the last birthday present her mother had given her before she died.
Preston had promised to replace it.
He never had.
Now Laurel wondered how many other things she had given him that he'd quietly convinced himself he deserved.
June entered with a fresh pair of black trousers and a folded white shirt.
“From wardrobe,” she said. “I thought you might need these.”
Laurel almost cried.
Not because of the clothes.
Because June had remembered that beneath the accusations, Laurel was still standing in cold, soup-soaked trousers.
“Thank you.”
June squeezed her hand.
Then she placed a pale-blue card on Caleb's desk.
“And I found this in the discarded paperwork beside the registration station.”
Elias examined it.
It was an original donor pledge card.
At the top were the words:
BRIGHTSTEP CHILDREN'S CENTER — CLASSROOM RENOVATION CAMPAIGN.
A handwritten amount appeared beneath.
$250,000.
The donor had checked a box specifying that the contribution was for renovation work and accessible classrooms.
But on Caleb's computer, that same pledge was listed under technology modernization.
Laurel immediately recognized the handwriting.
“Mrs. Whitcomb,” she said. “Table eight. She and her husband toured Brightstep last month.”
Caleb frowned.
“Donors can change their designations.”
“Of course they can,” Laurel replied. “But Mrs. Whitcomb is downstairs. Let's ask her.”
Before anyone moved, June spoke again.
“There's something else.”
She opened the event schedule.
“At seven forty-two, the tablet's activity record shows an approval. But at seven forty-three, the registration printer produced a receipt for a different $620,000 batch.”
“Different how?” Elias asked.
“The same donations. Different category.”
Laurel looked at the pale-blue card.
“Someone wanted the original instructions hidden.”
Elias didn't disagree.
But he still wasn't offering her complete trust.
That hurt more than Laurel wanted to admit.
They returned to the ballroom separately.
Dinner service had begun.
The chandeliers reflected in hundreds of crystal glasses.
Laurel changed clothes in the staff dressing room, then walked toward the registration station.
Camille Dorsey was waiting beside the corridor.
“Laurel.”
Laurel stopped.
Camille looked uncomfortable without Preston beside her.
“I need to ask you something.”
“I'm working.”
“It's about Preston.”
That got Laurel's attention.
Camille glanced toward the ballroom.
“He told me you were fired from your last position because you mishandled a charity account.”
Laurel stared at her.
“I've worked here for six years.”
“I know that now.”
“Did Preston tell you that tonight?”
Camille looked down.
“He told me before we came. He said you might become emotional if you saw us together.”
Laurel almost laughed.
Of course.
Preston hadn't merely planned to embarrass her.
He'd prepared Camille to believe any reaction Laurel had was evidence of instability.
“Why are you telling me?”
Camille touched the diamond bracelet on her wrist.
“Because my younger brother attended Brightstep when he was little. He needed physical therapy after a serious accident.”
Her voice changed.
“That center helped my family through a terrible year. I won't let anyone use its name to play games.”
Laurel studied her.
For the first time, the woman in the silver dress looked like a person rather than a weapon Preston had brought to the ballroom.
“Then tell me what you know.”
Camille took a breath.
“Preston said Elias North would be here tonight. He said if something went wrong with the event technology, he could demonstrate why Northline needed his company.”
Laurel's pulse quickened.
“Did he explain what would go wrong?”
“No.”
“Camille, think carefully.”
Camille lowered her voice.
“He told me to stand beside him near the champagne tower at exactly seven thirty-five. He wanted the event photographer nearby.”
Laurel closed her eyes.
He had staged the humiliation.
He wanted pictures of her losing control.
Pictures he could show to Elias if she challenged him.
But the plan had failed because she hadn't given him the reaction he wanted.
Camille continued.
“There was something else he said.”
“What?”
“He said by nine-fifteen, Brightstep would have a problem only Aperture Giving could solve.”
Laurel looked toward the stage.
The live auction began at nine-fifteen.
And Preston's company controlled the displayed donation totals.
Before she could answer, Elias approached with a folded piece of paper.
“I've spoken to Mrs. Whitcomb,” he said.
Laurel watched his face.
“She never changed her pledge.”
Camille stepped forward.
“My father didn't change his family's pledge either.”
Elias looked at her sharply.
“Are you certain?”
Camille nodded.
“He signed the conditions himself.”
Elias unfolded the paper.
It was a summary of the contract Preston had proposed to the Brightstep board.
Laurel read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
Her breath caught.
The proposal didn't merely ask Brightstep to purchase donation software.
It would give Aperture Giving exclusive control of the charity's donor-management system for five years.
And if Brightstep failed to meet its renovation goal that evening, the board could activate an emergency technology agreement.
Laurel looked up.
“Preston created the emergency.”
Elias's expression darkened.
“Someone helped him.”
Then Laurel saw the approval section.
There were two required authorizations.
One from Aperture Giving.
The other from Brightstep's board treasurer.
She read the name.
May you like
MARTIN VOSS.
The man currently sitting at the head table, smiling beside Preston Wade.
