Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
“Should there be?”
Graham Caldwell looked at Mara across his enormous mahogany desk.
She was still holding the expense report showing that he had personally contributed forty-seven thousand dollars to help employees facing emergencies.
“No,” she answered. “I suppose there shouldn't.”
“Then we're finished discussing it.”
Mara picked up the paperwork.
But before she reached the door, Graham spoke again.
“My father believed generosity was most valuable when people could see it.”
She turned.
“And you don't?”
“I believe people deserve help without becoming somebody else's advertisement.”
For a moment, something changed in his expression.
It was the first time Mara had heard him mention his father without sounding like he was discussing a former business partner.
“Did you learn that from him?”
Graham's mouth tightened.
“I learned it by watching what happened when he forgot.”
Mara could have asked more.
Instead, she nodded.
“Fair enough.”
That evening, she stayed late preparing materials for the Caldwell Civic Foundation's annual gala.
The event would bring nearly three hundred guests to Chicago's magnificent Fairmont ballroom.
Billionaires.
Politicians.
Developers.
People who could donate a million dollars without checking their bank accounts.
Mara was reviewing the presentation when an old photograph appeared on her computer screen.
It showed a row of neighborhood businesses standing beneath a banner.
SOUTH HALSTED SMALL BUSINESS PROMISE — 2009.
In the center stood a woman wearing a faded blue work coat.
Mara stopped breathing.
She knew that coat.
She knew those tired brown eyes.
And she knew the hand resting protectively on the shoulder of a teenage girl.
Her own shoulder.
The woman was Ruth Ellis.
Her mother.
Mara leaned closer.
She remembered that afternoon.
She had been fourteen, standing outside Ellis Hardware while men in expensive suits announced that neighborhood businesses would receive financial assistance during a redevelopment project.
Her mother had been suspicious.
Her father had been hopeful.
And Mara had been mostly interested in getting home before her favorite television show started.
Within eighteen months, the hardware store had lost its original location.
Her parents had spent years rebuilding.
Mara stared at the photograph.
She had never known the Caldwell Foundation was involved.
The following afternoon, Graham appeared beside her desk.
“My original guest can't attend tonight.”
“That's unfortunate.”
“I need someone who understands the foundation's programs and can recognize the major donors.”
Mara looked up.
“You need a substitute date?”
“A professional guest.”
“That's a remarkably expensive way to say substitute date.”
He ignored that.
“You'll be compensated for the additional hours. And you'll need a dress.”
She glanced at her gray cardigan.
“I have dresses.”
“Appropriate for a black-tie foundation gala?”
“One of them has sleeves.”
“Mara.”
“Fine. What is the budget?”
“Choose anything in Chicago.”
She stared.
“That's not a budget. That's a geographical location.”
“Consider it a generous one.”
Four hours later, Mara appeared at the top of Graham Caldwell's staircase wearing midnight-blue silk.
And the billionaire who could negotiate billion-dollar acquisitions without blinking suddenly forgot how language worked.
She noticed.
Naturally.
“Mr. Caldwell?”
He slowly straightened.
“You look beautiful.”
The words surprised both of them.
Mara glanced away.
“Thank you.”
For several seconds, the enormous house felt strangely quiet.
Then Graham offered his arm.
“Ready?”
“Depends. Are you planning to make me reorganize anyone's calendar tonight?”
“Only if they deserve it.”
She smiled.
At the gala, crystal chandeliers glittered above hundreds of elegantly dressed guests.
Graham introduced Mara without calling her his assistant.
“This is Mara Ellis. She's the reason my company has functioned properly for the last three weeks.”
She elbowed him lightly.
“Don't exaggerate. I took Sundays off.”
He laughed.
Several guests stared.
Apparently, watching Graham Caldwell laugh in public was almost as shocking as seeing him arrive with a woman.
But the pleasant evening changed when Mara noticed the historical photographs displayed near the stage.
The same photograph of her mother appeared beneath a gold frame.
Beside it stood Eleanor Caldwell, Graham's sixty-two-year-old aunt and longtime chairwoman of the foundation.
Eleanor was elegant, silver-haired, and famous for raising millions for Chicago charities.
She followed Mara's gaze.
“Do you recognize someone?”
“My mother.”
Eleanor's smile faltered.
“Your mother?”
“Ruth Ellis. Ellis Hardware.”
For one terrible second, Eleanor looked frightened.
Then her expression settled.
“How extraordinary.”
Before Mara could respond, the ballroom lights dimmed.
A large screen illuminated above the stage.
The foundation's executive director began celebrating its historic neighborhood investments.
One slide listed businesses that had received substantial financial support.
Mara barely listened until a familiar name appeared.
ELLIS HARDWARE.
DIRECT RELOCATION AND BUSINESS SUPPORT.
$180,000.
DISBURSED IN FULL.
Mara felt the blood drain from her face.
Graham noticed immediately.
“What's wrong?”
She pointed at the screen.
“My mother's business.”
He looked.
Then back at her.
“Did she receive that money?”
Mara's voice was barely audible.
“No.”
Graham stopped smiling.
“Are you certain?”
She turned toward him, her eyes suddenly bright.
“Mr. Caldwell, my mother worked six days a week for eleven years to pay off the debts from losing that store.”
May you like
She swallowed.
“Your foundation says it gave her a hundred and eighty thousand dollars. My mother never received a single penny.”
