“Celeste has that email,” I said. “She also has four others. One of them is from you to a colleague at Elevanta. You tell her that if the committee pushes on the methodology, she should say the outside consultant is unavailable for questions because of a nondisclosure agreement. There is no nondisclosure agreement. There is no outside consultant. There is only the drive you asked me to send you.”
The room was quiet. Grant looked at the floor. Travis looked at Kendra. Kendra looked at me. Her eyes were red. She had not cried in the ballroom. She was not crying now. She was simply out of the sentences she had prepared.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Do you want me to withdraw the submission? I already told Celeste I would. Do you want me to tell the committee the truth? I’ll do it. Do you want me to stand up in front of another room full of people and say I used my mother’s work because I was afraid I couldn’t produce my own? Tell me what you want, and I will do it. But don’t sit in this house and act as though you never needed help from anyone. Don’t act as though the only person in this family who ever used someone else’s work is me.”
I studied her. The gray sweater was one I had bought her three Christmases ago. She had said at the time that it was too plain. She was wearing it now because everything else was still at the hotel or in the car. “I want you to tell the committee what you actually did,” I said. “Not the version you told Travis last night. Not the version you just told me. The version that matches the timestamps and the emails. After you have done that, I want you to decide whether you are willing to hear what Celeste and the committee decide without asking me to soften it. That is what I want. I do not want another speech about how I embarrassed you. I do not want another explanation of why the water was only a joke. I want the account you are willing to give when the recording is running and the people listening are the ones who can end your employment.”
Kendra was quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded once. “All right,” she said. “I’ll call Celeste when I leave here. I’ll tell her I’m ready to give the statement. I’ll tell her Grant can be in the room if she allows it. And then I’ll wait for whatever they decide.”
She stood. Grant stood with her. Travis remained seated. At the door Kendra stopped. She did not turn all the way around. “The note from Dad,” she said. “The one in the drawer. I saw it once. Years ago. You left the drawer open. I read it. I didn’t know you still had it. I didn’t know you had kept it because of this project. If I had known that, I might not have used the files. Or I might have. I don’t know. I’m telling you because you have the emails. You might as well have that too.”
She opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Grant followed. Travis looked at me. I nodded. He rose and went after them. The door closed. I remained in the armchair. The house was quiet again. On the desk in the office, my phone began to ring. The screen showed Celeste’s name. I let it ring twice more before I answered. When I did, Celeste’s voice was the same calm voice that had come through the speaker in the ballroom.
“Loretta,” she said. “Kendra just called. She says she is prepared to give a full statement this afternoon. She has asked that you not be present. She has also asked that the statement be recorded and that a copy be sent to you afterward. I told her both requests are reasonable. I am calling to ask whether you want to receive the copy, and whether there is anything in the additional documents you have not yet sent that I should have before she arrives.”
I looked at the closed drawer that held Frank’s note. “There is one more document,” I said. “It is not an email. It is a handwritten note. It does not change the timestamps. It does not change the authorship. But it explains why I kept the early draft when I could have deleted it. I will scan it and send it to you before she arrives. You can decide whether it belongs in the file.”
« Très bien », dit Celeste. « Et Loretta, quel que soit le contenu de ce document, je tiens à ce que tu comprennes que le comité fondera sa décision sur les pièces soumises, les dates et heures, et la déclaration que Kendra fera cet après-midi. Pas sur ce que son père a écrit six semaines avant sa mort. Si ce document est pertinent pour vos arguments, je le lirai. Je ne peux pas garantir qu’il le sera pour les leurs. »
« Je comprends », ai-je dit.
Après avoir raccroché, je suis retournée au bureau. J’ai ouvert le tiroir. J’ai pris le mot de Frank et la page imprimée en dessous. Je les ai posés sur le scanner. Pendant que l’appareil chauffait, je suis restée à la fenêtre à observer la rue. La voiture de Travis était toujours garée au bord du trottoir. Il n’était pas parti. Il était assis au volant, la vitre baissée, et parlait à Kendra à travers la portière ouverte de sa propre voiture. Je n’entendais pas leurs paroles. Je voyais bien qu’aucun des deux ne criait. Au bout d’une minute, Kendra a fermé sa portière. Travis est resté où il était. Le scanner a terminé. J’ai envoyé le fichier à Celeste. Puis je suis retournée à la fenêtre. Travis était toujours là. Il regardait la maison. Quand il m’a vue, il a levé la main. J’ai levé la mienne en retour. Il n’est pas parti. Et sur le bureau derrière moi, le téléphone restait silencieux tandis que la copie du mot de Frank voyageait de mon ordinateur à un responsable de la conformité qui en avait déjà entendu assez pour savoir que la déclaration de l’après-midi ne serait ni courte, ni simple, et ne nous ramènerait pas à la version de la soirée que nous avions imaginée lorsque les portes de la salle de bal s’étaient ouvertes.
