Chapter 7: The Panel

The hearing was on Monday morning in the long boardroom on the top floor.

I wore my only blazer, and I sat in the chair they pointed to, with a glass of water I could not drink.

At the head of the table sat an old woman with a white bob and a cane across her knees.

Her back was straighter than anyone's in the room.

She had pale, sharp eyes, and she looked me over once, top to bottom.

"Miss Moser," she said.

"I'm Winifred Whitaker.

"I started this company with a rented desk and a borrowed typewriter, and I have chaired this board for forty years."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"You're the girl who stood on the desk."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," Winifred said.

"Sit up.

"This will take an hour, and none of it will be pleasant."

Dale sat across from me with a lawyer in a gray suit.

He had shaved and wore a fresh shirt, and he kept his hands folded.

When he looked at me, his eyes went flat with hate.

Tate Whitaker sat at Winifred's left hand, easy in his chair, with a leather folder open in front of him.

Nolan sat at the far end, and he did not look at me once.

I understood that this was on purpose.

He had told me the night before, in the same calm voice he used for everything.

"I can't sit in judgment of this," he said.

"I'm a witness.

"If I speak, they'll say I tilted it."

Tate cleared his throat.

"Grandmother, before we hear anything, I want to note for the record that Ms. Moser's recording is an unverified audio file.

"It can be edited.

"And the relationship between Ms. Moser and my cousin may affect how much weight we give it."

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