Chapter 20: The Gala

Willa's POV

The ballroom went quiet one table at a time.

Four hundred people in evening clothes turned to look at the woman in the plain black dress.

My name was on a banner over the stage, and my face was on the programs under their plates.

I walked down the middle aisle between the tables.

A woman in diamonds put her hand over her mouth.

My mother stood at the podium with a glass of water and a typed speech, and for one second her face was empty.

Then she put out both hands.

"My darling," she said into the microphone. "You came."

The room broke into applause.

I let it run until it stopped.

"Thank you for having me, Mother," I said, and went up the three steps beside the stage.

She kissed my cheek, and her lips were dry.

"Don't," she murmured, smiling for the cameras.

"I'm going to say something to your donors."

"You are unwell."

"I'm not, and I brought proof."

I stepped to the microphone.

Benton was at the head table, on his feet, with his napkin still in his hand.

Callie sat beside him in a gold gown with her hands in her lap, white to the lips.

"Good evening," I said. "My name is Willa Lowry. For seven years, most of you have given money to find me."

Someone in the back clapped, and nobody joined in.

"I'm here to tell you where it went."

A man at the side table rose halfway.

"The AV desk is on the left," I said. "A friend of mine put a file on it this afternoon. Would someone please press play?"

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