Chapter 4 - “You realize,” she said, “this is no longer a normal anniversary campaign.”
“It was never normal.”
“Marketing usually prefers balloons.”
“I heard Finance banned us from balloons.”
“That was one incident.”
“You still haven’t told me what happened.”
“Some mysteries should remain mysteries.”
Jack began joining our review sessions.
Without the intimidating conference room, he became easier to understand.
He was still guarded.
Still infuriatingly comfortable with silence.
But he listened.
That surprised me most.
When Priya disagreed, he listened.
When Margaret corrected him, he listened.
When I told him a paragraph sounded like it had been written by lawyers trying to impersonate humans, he looked at Margaret.
“She wrote it.”
Margaret removed her glasses.
“I can make your probationary period very memorable.”
We all laughed.
Little by little, the man from the lobby became separate from the mythology around him.
One night, as we walked toward the elevators, Jack said, “Your father once told me I asked bad questions.”
“I’m beginning to understand him.”
“He said I asked questions when I had already decided which answer I wanted.”
“That’s actually good advice.”
“I know that now.”
The elevator arrived.
Before the doors opened, I asked, “Why did Dad come see you seven years ago?”
Jack’s expression grew thoughtful.
“I think he knew he was ill.”
“He hadn’t told us yet.”
“He didn’t tell me either.
But he seemed… deliberate.”
“What did you talk about?”
“The company.
My father.
You.”
I looked at him.
“Me?”
“He said his daughter worked in communications.”
“I was freelancing.”
“He was proud of you.”
My throat tightened.
Jack continued.
“He also said something I didn’t understand at the time.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘One day, someone will walk into this company who doesn’t care who you are.
Hire that person.’” I stared at him.
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
“That is absurdly convenient.”
“I agree.”
“Did you hire me because he said that?”
“No.
I told you, you were already a finalist.”
“But it mattered.”
“Yes.”
I appreciated the honesty.
“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“You don’t have to decide tonight.”
The elevator arrived.
We stepped inside.
After a moment, Jack added, “For what it’s worth, I think Daniel expected you to be much more diplomatic than you are.”
“That sounds right.”
The campaign launch was scheduled for October.
Two days before final approval, another problem appeared.
Margaret called an emergency meeting.
When I entered, Jack was standing by the conference table holding a newspaper clipping.
“What happened?”
I asked.
Margaret answered.
“A reporter contacted us.”
My stomach tightened.
“About the campaign?”
“About Daniel.”
I sat down.
“How?”
“They have part of the story.”
“Which part?”
“That your father was involved in an internal Northbridge investigation and later received money from a Whitmore-funded education program.”
I understood immediately how that could look.
Payment.
Silence.
A bargain.
“That’s not what happened.”
“We know.”
“Does the reporter?”
“They’re asking.”
Jack placed the clipping down.
“The story hasn’t been published.”
“Who gave it to them?”
“We don’t know.”
Priya entered carrying her laptop.
“There’s more.”
She turned the screen toward us.
An anonymous email had been sent to several Northbridge board members.
It claimed our anniversary campaign had been designed to rewrite company history and portray Jack’s family favorably.
The email included one sentence that made my stomach drop.
Ask Emily Carter why her father was paid after he kept quiet.
“That’s false.”
“I know,” Priya said.
But something else was bothering me.
Someone knew about Dad.
Someone knew about the grant.
And someone knew I worked on the campaign.
Jack looked at me.
“We can remove you from the project until this is resolved.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“You asked me in that interview what I’d do if telling the truth made my department look bad.”
His expression changed.
“I remember.”
“Well, apparently we’re going to find out.”
Margaret sat down.
“The cleanest option is transparency.
We disclose the grant records, the testimony, the memorandum, and the timeline.”
“My father’s letter stays private.”
“Agreed.”
“And my mother’s financial history stays private.”
“Absolutely.”
Jack nodded.
“Your family controls what belongs to your family.”
That mattered.
For the first time since the anonymous email appeared, I could breathe normally.
Then Priya’s laptop chimed.
She opened a new message.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She turned the screen.
Another anonymous email.
Only five words.
Daniel kept more than one copy.
Nobody spoke.
I thought of the gray box.
The envelopes.
The papers we had already found.
Then I remembered something.
The original memorandum had been a photocopy.
If Dad had kept another copy, where was it?
More importantly, why did someone else know?
I called Mom.
She answered on the second ring.
“Please tell me you are not in the attic again.”
“Mom, did Dad ever give anyone else papers about Northbridge?”
Silence.
My pulse quickened.
“Mom?”
“There was one person.”
“Who?”
“A former student.”
I stood.
“What student?”
“She became a journalist.”
Margaret and Jack exchanged a look.
“What was her name?”
Mom answered.
And Jack went completely still.
“Rachel Bennett.”
I looked at him.
“You know her.”
He nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“How?”
May you like
Jack’s voice was quiet.
“Because Rachel Bennett has spent fifteen years trying to prove my father told only half the truth.”
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