Chapter 9: Friday

The boardroom on Friday smelled like lemon polish and old money.

Seven chairs stood around a mahogany table, and six of them held members of the board.

Ramsay sat at the head with his hands folded.

He had not slept either.

I stood against the back wall in my club polo, because Birdie had said that a witness on staff could not be refused entry.

"Is this necessary?" Ramsay had asked her in the corridor.

"She's the cause of the meeting," Birdie said. "She gets to hear it."

Stanford Lorring rose first.

He wore a charcoal suit and a sorrowful expression.

"Members of the board. We are here today with a heavy heart."

"Get on with it, Stanford," a white-haired woman said.

"Mr. Branwell, our Chair, has been conducting an improper relationship with an employee."

A murmur ran around the table.

"A cart attendant. Twenty-four years old. The daughter of a man this club dismissed for cause."

"Dismissed unjustly," Ramsay said.

"We'll come to that."

"We will."

Stanford lifted a folder.

"Further, the Branwell Family Trust paid thirty-eight thousand dollars of this employee's family medical debt without disclosure.

"That is a conflict, a gift, and a violation of the club's code."

"It was my money," Ramsay said.

"It was the Trust's, and the Trust owns sixty percent of this club. The Trust is not your pocket."

The white-haired woman cleared her throat.

"Is it true, Ramsay?"

"Yes."

Ramsay didn't flinch.

"I paid her father's debts. I'd do it again. What I did with it is my business."

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