Chapter 21: The Vote

The board met on a Monday in April, and Dean's mother was in the visitors' row by the window.

She had asked to come.

I had said yes, because a woman who signs a statement should have to watch what happens to it.

She wore her navy coat and sat with her pearls and her purse in her lap, and she did not look at me.

Dean came in last.

He had shaved badly, and his suit hung on him.

He took the chair on my left, the one he had taken in January, and put a folder down in front of him.

"Before we begin," he said. "I'd like to speak."

"Go ahead," I said.

"I know I've made mistakes."

The thin man with the tablet looked at the ceiling.

"I've seen someone. A counselor. I understand now that I was wrapped up in being needed."

"Mmm," said the silver-haired man.

"I've ended things with Brandy. I haven't spoken to her since the school."

"Because she's under arrest," the operations chief said, without looking up.

She was a square, gray-haired woman who had been the company's first hire, a carpenter, and still wore a tape measure on her belt.

Dean ignored her.

"I built this, Claire. Eight years. I put my whole life into this company, and the board is going to take it away on a technicality."

"It isn't a technicality," I said.

"Then what is it?"

"It's your signature on a sworn statement that a court has called untrue."

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