That irritated him more than he wanted to admit.
The joke wasn't working.
Naomi was supposed to look uncomfortable.
Instead, people were noticing her for an entirely different reason.
Tyler approached first.
"Naomi."
She smiled politely.
"Good evening."
"I almost didn't recognize you."
"I recognized you."
Tyler's smile tightened.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"I just arrived."
He leaned closer.
"Must be quite different from your usual Saturday night."
There it was.
Naomi looked at him calmly.
"Most Saturday nights are different from one another if you're paying attention."
The woman beside Tyler covered a smile.
Tyler's face reddened.
Before he could answer, someone called Naomi's name.
Not "Miss."
Not "cleaner."
Her full name.
"Naomi Brooks?"
Naomi turned.
An older man stood several feet away.
Silver hair.
Black tuxedo.
Shock written openly across his face.
Naomi recognized him instantly.
Dr. Arthur Bell.
Her former economics professor.
"Professor Bell."
He crossed the room quickly.
"My God."
He embraced her.
People nearby watched.
"I haven't seen you in years," he said. "Where have you been?"
"It's complicated."
Arthur stepped back and looked at her.
"You disappeared."
"I needed to."
"I tried contacting you after Halston."
Naomi's smile faded.
"I know."
Arthur lowered his voice.
"I never believed what they said."
Across the ballroom, Evan watched them.
He knew Arthur Bell.
Everyone in finance knew Arthur Bell.
Former Federal Reserve adviser.
Author.
Consultant to several Fortune 500 boards.
And Arthur Bell was looking at Naomi as though she mattered.
"Who is she?" Evan asked.
Tyler shrugged.
"The cleaner."
Evan frowned.
That answer suddenly seemed inadequate.
Meanwhile, Arthur was introducing Naomi to people.
"This is Naomi Brooks," he told a group of investors. "One of the most extraordinary economic minds I ever taught."
Naomi felt old discomfort rising.
"Professor—"
"I'm serious."
A woman named Vivian Cole looked at Naomi curiously.
"Brooks? Wait. Halston Capital?"
The room around Naomi seemed to shrink.
"Yes."
"I remember that case."
Naomi's shoulders stiffened.
Before she could respond, Arthur said quietly, "Then you probably remember the accusation. What you may not know is that the investigation was reopened last year."
Naomi stared at him.
"What?"
Arthur's expression changed.
"You don't know?"
"Know what?"
He glanced around them.
"Several of the documents used against you were proven fraudulent."
Naomi stopped breathing.
The ballroom disappeared.
For years, she had lived beneath the weight of those accusations.
For years, she had believed the truth had been buried permanently.
"Who discovered that?"
Arthur looked toward the opposite side of the ballroom.
"A forensic accounting team working for Carrington Industries."
Naomi followed his gaze.
Evan Carrington was staring directly at her.
And for the first time that evening, neither of them was smiling.
Evan had spent his entire adult life believing he could read people quickly.
Investors.
Competitors.
Employees.
Politicians.
He had built a fortune partly because he understood what people wanted before they said it.
Naomi Brooks confused him.
"Find out who she is," he quietly told his assistant.
His assistant blinked.
"The woman in green?"
"Yes."
"You invited her."
"I know."
That sounded ridiculous even to him.
Across the ballroom, Naomi sat at Table Twelve beside Arthur Bell and several guests who seemed increasingly fascinated by her.
This wasn't how tonight was supposed to unfold.
Evan had imagined Naomi entering nervously in an inexpensive dress, standing awkwardly near the walls while his friends exchanged amused looks.
The thought now made him uncomfortable.
Not because the joke had failed.
Because he was beginning to understand exactly how ugly it had been.
Onstage, the host announced the evening's charity initiative.
Carrington Foundation planned to invest fifty million dollars in affordable housing and small-business development across several underserved Chicago neighborhoods.
A presentation began.
Naomi watched the numbers appear on the screen.
Within minutes, she saw the problem.
The proposal assumed commercial growth rates that were unrealistic for three targeted districts. Worse, the lending model could unintentionally push rents upward, accelerating displacement of the very families the foundation claimed it wanted to help.
Naomi remained silent.
This wasn't her world anymore.
Then Evan stepped onto the stage.
"We don't believe charity should simply relieve poverty," he said. "We believe investment should create independence."
Applause.
Naomi didn't clap.
Arthur noticed.
"You disagree."
"It's not my business."
"That's not what I asked."
Naomi sighed.
"The model is flawed."
A businessman sitting nearby overheard.
"Flawed how?"
Naomi hesitated.
Then she explained.
Within minutes, the entire table was listening.
She spoke about rent elasticity, neighborhood-level lending risk, local ownership, and how capital incentives could be structured to prevent speculative property acquisition.
No jargon for the sake of sounding intelligent.
No performance.
She simply understood the problem.
Unfortunately for Naomi, Evan had approached the table without her noticing.
"And what would you do instead?"
She looked up.
Evan stood behind her.
The surrounding conversation stopped.
Naomi could have embarrassed him.
Part of her wanted to.
Instead, she answered.
"I'd tie commercial lending incentives to local ownership retention. Give residents and existing businesses priority access to capital before opening the program to outside developers."