“Find him.”
Naomi nodded.
“We're working on it.”
Darius closed the folder.
“Naomi, I want an independent investigation of the entire property. Not just finance.”
“Understood.”
“Employment practices. Guest treatment. Membership approvals. Vendor selection. Disciplinary actions. Everything.”
Naomi made a note.
“Should we notify the board?”
“Yes.”
“Peter?”
“Not yet.”
Naomi looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because I want to understand whether Peter failed to act or actively helped create the problem.”
Naomi nodded slowly.
“There's another issue.”
“What?”
“The 911 call.”
Darius looked up.
“Go ahead.”
“Marianne's account appears inconsistent with the available witness statements. If she knowingly made a false report, the company may need to consider whether that conduct violates its executive ethics policy.”
Darius nodded.
“I want the facts established first.”
“Of course.”
He looked at the folder again.
Then he closed it.
“There's something else.”
Naomi waited.
“I want to know whether my mother ever visited Harbor Ridge before I acquired it.”
Naomi frowned.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Darius reached into his desk drawer.
He removed a clear plastic sleeve.
Inside was an old yellowed program from a scholarship luncheon held in June 1996.
The paper had softened with age.
The ink had faded.
But the words remained readable.
Grand Harbor Scholarship Luncheon.
Harbor Ridge Country Club.
Darius turned it over.
“My mother kept this.”
Naomi examined the document.
“Was she a guest?”
“She was one of the teachers who brought students.”
“And?”
Darius looked at the program.
“She never told me what happened that day.”
Naomi waited.
Darius continued.
“I found it after she died. There was a handwritten note on the back.”
He handed her the sleeve.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Ten children came to celebrate their hard work. They were told the room was unavailable, even though the event was still taking place. We ate in the park instead.
Naomi read it twice.
Then she looked up.
“Darius.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“Did you know Marianne Ellsworth was involved?”
“Not until yesterday.”
Naomi turned the paper over again.
Her eyes stopped at the host committee list.
There it was.
Marianne Ellsworth.
Twenty-six years old at the time.
A junior member of the event committee.
Naomi looked at him.
“Do you think she remembers?”
Darius took the program back.
“I don't know.”
He placed it carefully in the drawer.
“But I think it's time we found out.”
Across the city, Marianne Ellsworth sat in her bedroom.
Her phone had not stopped ringing.
Three members had called to ask what happened.
One had sent a message asking whether the police had arrested the man from the valet circle.
Another had sent a screenshot of a local business news article mentioning Northstar Meridian's ownership of Marlowe Haven Hospitality.
Marianne had not answered any of them.
She sat on the edge of the bed, still wearing the clothes she had put on that morning.
Her husband was downstairs.
He had spent the previous evening speaking with a lawyer.
He had not told her much.
That bothered her.
Kenneth had always discussed business with her.
Not every detail, but enough.
They had built their lives together.
Their house.
Their investments.
Their social relationships.
Their reputation.
Now he seemed to be hiding something.
She opened her phone.
A message from Peter Lyle appeared.
Mrs. Ellsworth, please do not contact staff regarding the ongoing review.
She stared at it.
Then she typed:
Peter, I expect you to clarify what happened yesterday.
She deleted the message.
She typed another.
This situation is being exaggerated.
She deleted that too.
Finally, she put the phone down.
Her reflection in the mirror looked unfamiliar.
For fifteen years, she had been the person others consulted.
The person who knew which table was appropriate for which guest.
The person who could change a reservation with one phone call.
The person who could make an employee's afternoon shift disappear.
Now she was being told not to contact staff.
It felt like an insult.
She walked downstairs.
Kenneth was sitting at the kitchen island.
His laptop was open.
A financial spreadsheet filled the screen.
“Ken.”
He did not look up.
“We need to talk.”
“Not now.”
“When, then?”
“After I speak to counsel.”
She stared at him.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's important.”
“What exactly did you approve?”
Kenneth closed the laptop.
“Marianne.”
“What?”
“You need to stop asking me questions about company transactions.”
She laughed.
“I was the one who asked you to look into the gala budget.”
“And I handled it.”
“Then why are they investigating us?”
Kenneth looked at her.
“Because someone found the invoices.”
“What invoices?”
He rubbed his face.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
He stood.
“You approved the event arrangements.”
“I approved the event budget.”
“You approved the vendor.”
“You recommended the vendor.”