Chapter 6: Lucky Angel

Farwell Capital held its quarterly investor dinner on Friday night, and Cora walked in on Alexander's arm.

She wore a midnight-blue dress she had bought that afternoon, and her hair was down for the first time in five years.

Nobody in the hotel ballroom recognized her.

The people who had filmed her in an apron six days earlier looked right past her.

Then the host at the door read the place card in his hand and went pale.

"Miss Lenhart. Mr. Easterling. For the Larkspur Fund."

The word went through the room in a low wave.

Larkspur was the quiet name behind half of the evening's money, and no investor in that ballroom had ever met its owner.

Cora took her seat at the head table.

Brooks was already on the small stage with a champagne flute, laughing with a man in a gray suit.

Delaney stood near the podium in a green dress, with her hand on his arm.

Marguerite sat at the front, in pearls.

Brooks saw Cora.

He stopped laughing.

For a second his face was only blank, and then he crossed the stage in three steps and bent to the microphone.

"A surprise guest," he said. "My, ah, wife, everybody. She likes to stand near the kitchen, so I'm glad she found a chair."

A few people chuckled.

Nobody chuckled at the head table.

Alexander stood and buttoned his jacket.

"Mr. Farwell, I'm afraid you have the wrong seat for her," he said, pleasantly. "This is Miss Cora Lenhart, principal owner of the Larkspur Fund."

Silence fell.

Brooks gripped the microphone.

"That's not funny."

"It isn't meant to be," Alexander said.

Marguerite turned in her chair so quickly her earring caught the light.

"What?" Brooks said, too loud. "No. She's, that's, she's nobody. She's nobody, she's my..."

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