“This is your fault.”
I said nothing.
“You couldn’t stand the fact that I was doing something bigger with this foundation than you ever did!”
Her voice broke through the silence.
“I brought in millions of dollars. I gave this organization a reputation. And you spent your time complaining about an old building!”
The cruelty was so naked that several guests turned away.
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I said, “That old building kept children warm when they had nowhere to sleep.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Sentiment doesn’t pay for progress.”
“No,” I replied. “But stealing from those children certainly doesn’t.”
The ballroom went completely still.
Caroline’s hands curled into fists.
“You think you’re so noble, Margaret? Arthur himself wanted that property sold.”
My heart gave a painful jolt.
“What?”
She pointed toward the entrance.
“I have copies of his correspondence. He knew Vale House needed to change. He wanted the property developed into something financially sustainable.”
I stared at her.
For four years, I’d tried to imagine what Arthur would have said about the changes to the foundation.
Now Caroline was claiming she possessed proof.
For one terrible second, I wondered whether my grief had blinded me to something my husband had kept secret.
Caroline saw the uncertainty on my face.
And she smiled.
“There. You didn’t know everything about your husband after all.”
That was when the ballroom doors opened.
Beatrice Ellis stood in the entrance wearing her familiar black dress with its crisp white collar.
In her hands was a worn leather portfolio.
She looked smaller than the women in glittering evening gowns around her.
But when she spoke, her voice carried across the marble floor.
