Chapter 6 - THE MISTRESS WHO SIGNED AWAY THE STUDIO
“That's a restaurant,” Vivienne whispered.
She stared at the architectural drawing.
“Conrad said there would be performances.”
“There probably will be,” I answered. “For people who can afford the membership fee.”
She turned another page.
A private cigar lounge occupied the space where children practiced after school.
An exclusive event terrace replaced the outdoor rehearsal courtyard.
And the smaller classroom where my mother had spent years sewing costumes was labeled Executive Hospitality Suite.
Vivienne pressed her fingers against her mouth.
“He told me the new company would provide scholarships.”
“Where?”
She didn't answer.
“Which classrooms? Which instructors? Which children?”
“I don't know.”
“Then he sold you a beautiful promise without telling you what it would cost.”
Her eyes filled.
“You think I'm stupid.”
“No. I think you wanted something badly enough to stop asking questions.”
She looked down.
I knew that feeling.
For years, I'd wanted my marriage to survive badly enough to ignore the small cruelties that warned me it was dying.
Wanting something doesn't make a person foolish.
But refusing to see the cost can make them dangerous.
I closed the booklet.
“I need a copy.”
Vivienne hesitated.
“Conrad said these designs were confidential.”
“Conrad also said you could wear my necklace.”
That settled it.
She handed me the booklet.
We took it to Ruth and Margaret.
Ruth stared at the drawing of Studio A.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Then she touched the page.
“That's where I taught my first class.”
Margaret looked furious.
“He told the board the original studios would be preserved.”
I pointed to the page number.
“Then this should make tomorrow's vote much easier.”
Margaret shook her head.
“Not necessarily. Conrad still claims the foundation owes his company $9.6 million. If the board rejects the sale, he may attempt to enforce that debt.”
“Then we have to establish whether the debt is real.”
“And we have less than twenty-four hours.”
Ruth sat down.
“Some of our teachers haven't been paid for three weeks.”
I looked at her.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Conrad said you were stepping away from the program.”
There it was again.
My supposed instability had become a convenient explanation for excluding me from everything.
Margaret opened the foundation's bylaws on her laptop.
“I can request a postponement, but a majority of the trustees must agree. Conrad has spent months convincing them that the sale is our only choice.”
“Then we'll give them another choice,” I said.
A voice came from the hallway.
“You're going to accomplish that in one night?”
Conrad stood outside the open office door.
His expression was composed, but his jaw was tight.
Vivienne immediately stepped backward.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“You've been busy,” he said.
I held up the architectural booklet.
“So have you.”
“That document is preliminary.”
“Is the scholarship closure preliminary too?”
He walked inside.
“Linden Hall is an expensive, deteriorating institution. Sentiment doesn't pay salaries.”
“Neither does moving scholarship donations into unexplained accounts.”
For the first time, his composure faltered.
“Be careful, Eleanor.”
“With what?”
“Accusing people of financial crimes you don't understand.”
“I practiced corporate litigation for twelve years, Conrad. I know the difference between an operating deficit and money leaving a restricted account.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You haven't practiced in years.”
“Fortunately, arithmetic hasn't changed.”
Ruth looked down, hiding the smallest smile.
Conrad turned toward Vivienne.
“Why did you give her that?”
Vivienne lifted her chin.
“Because you told me the children would stay.”
“They'll have opportunities elsewhere.”
“Where?”
He didn't answer.
She stepped closer.
“You told me I could build something meaningful here.”
“And you can, if you stop behaving like a child.”
The words landed painfully.
I recognized that voice.
The one that made a person feel small enough to apologize for asking a reasonable question.
Vivienne seemed to recognize it too.
Her expression hardened.
“Don't speak to me like that.”
Conrad looked genuinely surprised.
Then he turned back to me.
“You're enjoying this, aren't you? Turning everyone against me.”
“No,” I said. “I would have preferred a faithful husband and an honest foundation.”
His face flushed.
Margaret stepped between us.
“Conrad, tomorrow's vote is under review. Until then, no further transfers should be authorized without trustee approval.”
“You'll destroy the financing.”
“Then perhaps you should have shown us the financing honestly.”
Conrad looked from Margaret to Ruth.
Finally, his eyes settled on Vivienne.
“You have no idea what you've just thrown away.”
He left without another word.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Vivienne sank into a chair.
“He's going to ruin me.”
I looked at her.
“Only if you let him decide what your life is worth.”
She closed her eyes.
“I signed something.”
Margaret turned.
“What did you sign?”
“A transition agreement. Conrad said it established my position with the new company.”
“May I see it?” I asked.
Vivienne opened her email and forwarded the agreement.
I printed it.
Twenty-six pages.
The first section described her appointment as artistic ambassador.
The second promised performance opportunities and a generous salary.
The third outlined her responsibilities during the renovation.
I turned to page nineteen.
Then page twenty.
My stomach tightened.
A clause required the transition director to oversee the removal of existing studio equipment, archival displays, and commemorative installations.
That included my mother's scholarship plaque.
Another clause made the transition director responsible for notifying current youth-program participants that their enrollment would end.
At the bottom was Vivienne's signature.
I turned the page toward her.
“Did you read this?”
She stared at it.
“No.”
“Did you sign it?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Yes.”
I placed the agreement on the table.
Conrad hadn't simply made Vivienne his mistress.
He had made her the public face of destroying the institution that once gave her a future.
And when I showed her the final page, she began to cry.
May you like
Because beneath her signature was her official new title:
Vivienne Hart — Director of Program Closure and Property Transition.
