Chapter 5: The Version of Events He Did Not Prepare For
Brett excused himself from the television journalist with a hand on the shoulder and a laugh designed to suggest he would be back in two minutes.
He crossed the ballroom at a pace that was not quite hurrying.
His attorney, a compact man named Douglas Reeve, materialized from near the service corridor and fell into step beside him.
Audrey watched them come.
She did not close the envelope.
She did not move the documents.
She let them sit exactly where they were on the white tablecloth under the chandelier light, visible to anyone within ten feet of the table.
"Gerald," Brett said, stopping at the table's edge, "I'd like to ask you to leave."
Gerald Foss had not moved from his chair.
He folded his hands.
"No."
"This is my event."
"This is a business anniversary dinner for a company that has two founding partners," Constance said, without looking up from her coffee.
"Audrey Finch-Holloway is one of them.
You don't have the authority to ask her guests to leave."
Douglas Reeve stepped forward.
"Mrs.
Holloway, I want to be clear that whatever Mr.
Foss has told you tonight is based on a significant misunderstanding of the—"
"Page three," Audrey said.
Reeve stopped.
"The paragraph that's underlined," she said.
"The one about getting my signature before the anniversary gala." She looked up at him.
"Would you like to explain what that means, or should I ask you in front of the two television cameras that are currently pointed at this table?"
Reeve glanced back.
Both cameras were indeed aimed in their direction.
One of the journalists had moved closer, phone out, recording without pretense.
"Brett," Reeve said quietly.
"We should step outside."
"We're not stepping outside," Brett said.
His voice had lost its social ease.
What was underneath was colder and more deliberate, and Audrey recognized it because she had heard it twice before — once during the negotiation for their third restaurant when a contractor had tried to undercut them, and once during a school meeting when a teacher had questioned Micah's test results.
Brett reserved that voice for situations he intended to win quickly and without mercy.
"Audrey, listen to me.
Gerald is a disgruntled investor who has had a problem with my leadership since I renegotiated his equity position last spring.
He came here tonight to embarrass me.
Whatever he's told you—"
"He didn't tell me anything," Audrey said.
"I read it."
"You don't have the context—"
"Page nine," she said.
"The foundation account.
Forty-two thousand dollars." She kept her voice level.
"Walk me through the context on that."
Brett's jaw moved once.
Then he pulled out the chair beside her — the one that had been empty all evening because no one had wanted to sit at the table with Audrey Finch-Holloway tonight — and sat down in it.
He leaned close.
When he spoke, it was almost gentle.
"I moved those funds into a holding account for the restaurant expansion in Milwaukee," he said.
"It was a temporary measure.
It will be restored before the quarter closes.
You would have known that if you'd been included in the February board meeting."
"I wasn't invited to the February board meeting."
"You've been disengaged for over a year, Audrey.
I have been running this company largely alone while you—"
"While I what?" She did not raise her voice.
"While I managed the foundation?
While I finalized the cookbook manuscript?
While I handled every school pickup and sick day and homework crisis so that you could be in those board meetings?
While I did every invisible thing that kept this family operational so that the singular vision of Brett Holloway could have a clean, uninterrupted view?"
The word *singular* landed exactly as she had intended.
Brett's eyes went to the printed program on the table.
He had written that word himself.
She had watched him choose it.
"That money belongs to the foundation's donors," Constance said from across the table.
"Moving it to a holding account without board approval or donor disclosure is not a business decision.
It's a fiduciary violation."
"You're not on this foundation's board," Brett said.
"No," Constance said.
"But two of the people who are are sitting at table seven.
And they've been listening to this conversation for the last four minutes."
Brett looked at table seven.
Two women in their sixties sat very straight, their dessert untouched.
One of them gave Brett a look that contained no warmth and no confusion whatsoever.
Brett turned back to Audrey.
For the first time that night, the calculation in his face gave way to something that was not quite fear but was adjacent to it.
"Sign the voluntary withdrawal," he said, quietly now, just for her.
"I'll restore the foundation funds Monday.
I'll give you the cookbook deal in writing with your name on it.
I'll make sure Micah's tuition is covered through graduation, no dispute.
You walk away from all of this cleanly, and so does he." He glanced at Micah.
"He doesn't need to grow up watching his parents destroy something they built together."
Audrey looked at her son.
Micah was holding his grandmother's recipe card in both hands.
He was looking at his father with a stillness that was too old for twelve.
"Dad," he said, "she already walked away from things she built together." He placed the recipe card flat on the table between them.
"Grandma Opal's rye pear tart.
It's in the cookbook.
Mom developed the recipe.
Your name is on the cover."
Brett said nothing.
Micah slid the recipe card toward him.
"Her name should be first."
The television journalist was now close enough that Audrey could hear the faint sound of recording.
Brett heard it too.
His hand went to the recipe card and stopped just before touching it.
"This isn't over," he said to Audrey.
"I know," she said.
"But it's different now."
She picked up Constance's small second envelope and held it in her lap.
Brett stood, straightened his jacket, and walked back toward the stage.
Sierra fell into step behind him after a three-second delay that told Audrey everything about how rehearsed their evening actually was.
Constance reached across the table and refilled Audrey's coffee without being asked.
"What's in the second envelope?" Audrey asked.
"The name of the holding account the foundation money was moved into," Constance said.
"And the name of the person listed as the account's secondary signatory."
Audrey opened the small envelope.
May you like
The secondary signatory was not Douglas Reeve.
It was Sierra Vaughn.
