Chapter 9 - SEVENTEEN TIMES
I didn’t touch the document.
For several seconds, I simply looked at Graham.
“Seventeen?”
He said nothing.
Richard pushed the pages toward me.
“You should read it.”
I opened the packet.
Page one was normal.
Market expansion.
Client retention.
New business development.
Then page four.
Community Relationship Strategy.
My stomach tightened.
My name appeared in the second paragraph.
Through Graham’s spouse, Elise Morgan, Director-level events professional with extensive regional nonprofit relationships—
“I’m not a director,” I said.
Richard nodded.
“I know that now.”
I kept reading.
Access to established philanthropic networks.
Potential private introductions.
Exclusive foundation events.
My pulse pounded.
Page five contained a chart.
Museum.
Hospital foundation.
Arts council.
University donors.
Graham had built an entire partnership-growth strategy around access to my professional world.
I looked up.
“You submitted this?”
His jaw flexed.
“It was conceptual.”
“You submitted it.”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me.”
“I was going to.”
“When? After I hosted the first client dinner?”
“Elise—”
“No.”
My voice cracked across the room.
“For two days, you’ve told me I’m overreacting. This was already in writing.”
Cynthia stepped toward me.
“Maybe Graham assumed a husband and wife would help each other.”
My mother laughed.
Everybody turned.
It was not a happy sound.
“Cynthia, if your son proposed using your bank account in a business plan without asking, would you call that helping?”
“That is completely different.”
“Because it’s yours?”
Cynthia went silent.
I looked back at Graham.
“Did anyone at your firm verify these claims?”
Richard answered.
“We should have.”
Not good enough.
But at least he said it.
Graham finally sat.
His anger seemed to drain out of him.
“I needed something big.”
Nobody spoke.
“The partnership committee kept saying I didn’t have a unique growth strategy.”
I stared at him.
“So you invented one.”
“I knew you could do those things.”
“That was never the question.”
“I thought once they approved me, I’d talk to you.”
My skin prickled.
“Once they approved you.”
“Yes.”
“Then I wouldn’t be able to say no without hurting your career.”
He looked at me.
And in his silence, I saw the whole plan.
He had expected momentum to become consent.
Just like Thanksgiving.
Invite first.
Promise first.
Announce first.
Then put me in a position where saying no made me the villain.
Anne whispered, “Oh my God.”
Graham shook his head.
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“Yes,” I said. “It is.”
He stood again.
“I’m done.”
This time, nobody stopped him.
He walked toward the front door.
Then his phone rang.
He checked the screen.
His face changed.
Richard noticed.
“Who is it?”
“No one.”
“Graham.”
He declined the call.
Two seconds later, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
“Is this Elise Morgan?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Dana Wells. I’m with Holloway Financial’s internal investigations group.”
Every person at the table watched me.
Dana continued.
“I’m sorry to contact you on a holiday.”
I looked at Graham.
He looked terrified.
“But we need to ask you about several emails your husband sent using your name.”
I gripped the phone.
“What emails?”
She paused.
“Emails that appear to have been written by you.”
May you like
I stared at my husband.
And this time, he couldn’t even look me in the eye.
