Chapter 6 - The Mothers Who Waited
Sophie’s mother met us at a diner off the interstate.
She chose the booth closest to the door.
Her name was Ana Reed.
She still wore a pink elastic bracelet with SOPHIE printed in white letters.
When I slid the grant report across the table, she didn’t touch it.
“They told me there wasn’t any money.”
Her voice was almost pleasant.
That made it worse.
“For the hotel near the hospital.
We only needed six more nights.”
I remembered that request.
I remembered signing off on it.
“I approved it,” I said.
Ana finally looked at me.
“Then where did it go?”
I had no answer worth giving her.
Mara sat beside me, taking notes with Ana’s permission.
My father stayed in the car.
I had asked him to.
I couldn’t face this woman with someone standing behind me making me look protected.
Ana pulled out her phone.
She showed us messages from the foundation.
Promises.
Delays.
A final response blaming missing paperwork.
Then a photograph of Sophie sleeping in the back seat of an old sedan.
“We slept in the hospital parking garage.”
I stared at the picture.
On the screen, Sophie held the stuffed rabbit I had given her.
My stomach turned.
“I’m sorry.”
Ana put her phone down.
“People say that when they want the conversation to end.”
“I don’t.”
“Then find the money.”
My phone rang.
Tessa Cole.
Grant’s executive assistant.
I almost declined.
Then her text arrived.
PLEASE.
HE USED MY SON’S NAME TOO.
I answered.
Tessa was crying.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Because I have something you need.”
Mara shook her head and pointed to her own phone.
I understood.
“Talk to my attorney,” I told Tessa.
“We’ll arrange somewhere safe.”
“No police.”
“We’re not promising that.”
A long silence.
Then Tessa whispered, “Your husband didn’t build this.”
“What?”
“The money.
The fake grants.
He made it bigger, but it was already there.”
Mara leaned closer.
“Who started it?”
Tessa’s breathing changed.
A door closed on her end.
When she spoke again, her voice was careful.
“Ask your father why he signed the audit.”
The call ended.
I stared through the diner window.
May you like
My father sat in his car, both hands resting on the steering wheel.
For the first time since the ballroom, I didn’t feel safer looking at him.
