Chapter 21: The Gala

The new wing of Hearth House had a glass lobby, and four hundred people stood in it holding champagne.

I stood at the edge of the stage in a green dress Laurence had not chosen.

Birdie held my hand.

She wore a velvet coat, and her braids were even for once.

She looked at the crowd as if it owed her a sandwich.

"Mommy, is the bad lady here?"

"She's here."

I could see Imogen from the wings.

She stood beside the podium in cream silk, with her blonde bob smooth and a glass of water in her hand.

She looked calm.

Laurence had told her at four that afternoon that she would open.

She had thanked him warmly.

At seven she stepped to the microphone.

"Good evening," Imogen said, in her low, kind voice. "Thank you all for coming to a night that I know means everything to this family."

She read the first page.

I knew it by heart, because Laurence had made me read it.

She thanked the board.

She thanked the architects.

She turned the page and read the paragraph about the people who protected a family.

Her voice caught on one word, exactly where it was supposed to.

Then the screen behind her changed.

It was the lobby.

A hundred donors stood in a ring around a woman in a hairnet.

A man in a charcoal suit had his hand on her chin.

Imogen stopped reading.

On the screen, a woman in cream said, in a shaking voice, *You took the money and left with that painter.*

It was Ben's doing.

He had pulled every phone video from that day.

He had the clearest one cleaned and slowed, and cut to the one moment that mattered.

On the screen, the woman in the hairnet turned her face up.

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