Naomi read the invoice.
“Four hundred chairs.”
Sofia nodded.
“We only received two hundred and forty.”
“Did you report the discrepancy?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
“Mr. Ellsworth's office.”
“What happened?”
“He told me the vendor had supplied additional equipment through a secondary delivery.”
“Did you see that delivery?”
“No.”
“Did you sign the receiving document?”
“No.”
Naomi looked at the page.
There was a signature.
Not Sofia's.
The signature belonged to a temporary employee who had been dismissed three weeks later.
“Do you know who signed this?”
Sofia nodded.
“Derek Moore.”
“Can we contact him?”
“I think so.”
“Do you know why he left?”
Sofia hesitated.
“He was told his contract would not be renewed.”
“Did he complain?”
“He said the delivery sheet was false.”
Naomi looked up.
“Did you hear him say that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you document it?”
Sofia opened the notebook.
“Here.”
She pointed to a dated entry.
January 18. Derek says he signed receipt for 240 chairs, not 400. Says he was told to sign revised sheet after event. Refused. Mr. Ellsworth angry.
Naomi read the note carefully.
“This is important.”
Sofia nodded.
“I know.”
“Why did you leave?”
Sofia closed the notebook.
“Because I was tired of being told that doing the right thing was a problem.”
Darius entered the room halfway through the interview.
He had been attending a conference call with the manufacturing division.
Naomi introduced him.
“Mr. Whitaker, this is Sofia Ramirez.”
Sofia stood immediately.
“Mr. Whitaker.”
“Please sit.”
He took the chair opposite her.
“Thank you for coming.”
Sofia looked uncomfortable.
“I wasn't sure whether I should.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't work there anymore.”
Darius nodded.
“That doesn't mean your experience is irrelevant.”
Sofia looked at him.
“I heard about what happened.”
“The valet incident?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry you had to hear about it.”
She hesitated.
Then she said something unexpected.
“I wasn't surprised.”
Darius's expression changed.
“Why?”
“Because I've seen Mrs. Ellsworth do that before.”
“Accuse people?”
“Not always directly. Sometimes she simply decides someone doesn't belong, and then everyone else is expected to make that decision look reasonable.”
Darius leaned forward.
“Can you give me an example?”
Sofia looked at Naomi.
Then back at Darius.
“There was a scholarship luncheon in 1996.”
Darius became still.
Sofia noticed.
“You know about it?”
He reached into his jacket and removed the old program.
Sofia stared.
“That's the one.”
Darius placed it on the table.
“My mother kept this.”
Sofia looked at the host committee list.
Then at the handwritten note on the back.
She swallowed.
“I've heard about that day.”
Darius's voice was quieter.
“From whom?”
“An older employee. Her name was Evelyn Carter. She worked in the kitchen for more than thirty years.”
Darius looked at Naomi.
Naomi made a note.
“Is she still alive?”
“Yes. She retired about eight years ago.”
“Can we contact her?”
“I believe so.”
Darius looked back at Sofia.
“What did she tell you?”
Sofia took a breath.
“She said a group of students arrived for the luncheon. They had been invited by a local education foundation. Your mother was their teacher.”
Darius nodded.
“What happened?”
“According to Evelyn, someone at the entrance told them the room had been reassigned.”
Darius looked at the program.
“But the luncheon was still taking place.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Sofia hesitated.
“Evelyn said the committee didn't want the students in the main dining room.”
Darius's jaw tightened.
“Who made that decision?”
“I don't know. But she said Marianne Ellsworth was there.”
Naomi looked at Sofia.
“Did Evelyn explain what Marianne did?”
“She said Marianne was young. She wasn't the person in charge, but she agreed with the decision.”
Darius looked down.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he asked:
“Did my mother complain?”
Sofia shook her head.
“Not according to Evelyn.”
“Did she leave?”
“She took the students to a park nearby.”
Darius looked at the note.
Ten children.
Sandwiches in a public park.
Donors inside.
He had imagined many things about that day.
But hearing another person confirm the memory made it feel different.
It was no longer a family document.
It was a piece of institutional history.
“Can you arrange a meeting with Evelyn?” he asked.
Sofia nodded.
“I can try.”
Darius closed the sleeve carefully.
“Please do.”
That evening, Darius drove to the cemetery where his mother was buried.
He had not planned to go.
But the interview had unsettled him.
The rain had stopped.
The grass was wet.
A few late autumn leaves had gathered near the stone paths.
He parked the Rolls-Royce and walked to the familiar section.
Ruth Whitaker's grave was marked by a simple granite headstone.
Her name.
Her birth year.
Her death year.
And a short sentence:
She gave children the courage to imagine more.