Chapter 15: The Board

The board met on Monday in the Fund's long conference room on the fourteenth floor.

Margaret Hale looked down from her portrait over the head of the table, scowling at the coffee.

I took the chair at the center.

I had put on the navy suit again.

Under it, a mark on my hip from his hand was going yellow, and nobody in the room knew about it.

Arthur sat at my right. The chief of surgery sat at my left and did not look at me.

Two board members I had met four times came in together and sat at the far end.

The doors opened at nine.

Graham came in alone, in the charcoal suit, with a thick envelope in his hand.

He had shaved badly. He had not slept either.

"Five minutes," Arthur said. "Dr. Ellery asked for them. The chair has no objection."

"The chair has no objection," I said.

Graham stood at the end of the table and did not use the podium.

"I'm withdrawing my candidacy for the Institute," he said.

Nobody moved.

The chief put down his pen.

"On what grounds?" he asked.

"On two grounds. The first is the letter."

Graham set the envelope on the table and slid it down toward the chief.

"The letter says I concealed the crash. I did. I concealed it from myself.

"That envelope is the state police report.

"It was written the spring after Tom died, and it sat in a sewing box for eight years.

"It says I was driving on ice at fifty-one miles an hour. That part is mine.

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