Chapter 6 - VIVIENNE ASHFORD'S INVITATION|
The invitation arrived the next morning in a cream envelope thick enough to feel expensive before Sofia opened it.
Vivienne Ashford had requested her presence at a private luncheon for the Monroe Foundation's major donors. The wording was polite, almost affectionate. It referred to Sofia as the young woman whose “impulsive behavior” had attracted unnecessary attention and suggested that a conversation might resolve the misunderstanding.
Sofia read it twice.
Then she laughed.
Dante, standing near the breakfast table, looked up from his coffee.
“What's funny?”
“She wants to teach me manners.”
“Decline.”
“Absolutely not.”
His expression sharpened.
“You don't owe her a conversation.”
“No. But she clearly thinks I owe her an apology, and I would love to hear how she plans to explain that.”
“Sofia, she is not inviting you because she wants to apologize.”
“I know.”
“She has influence, money, and people who will protect her reputation. You have a brother recovering in a hospital and a phone full of threats.”
“And I still have a voice.”
Dante put down his cup.
“I won't tell you what to do.”
“Good.”
“But I want you to understand the risk.”
“I understand the risk of being poor in a room full of rich people. I have understood it since I was sixteen.”
For a moment, he seemed unable to respond.
Then he nodded.
“Marcus will accompany you. He'll remain outside unless you ask for him.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“And if anything feels wrong, leave.”
“I don't need permission to leave.”
“No,” Dante said. “You don't.”
The luncheon took place at a private club overlooking Central Park. Sofia wore a simple navy dress she had borrowed from a friend and shoes that had seen too many subway platforms. She refused to buy something new simply to make Vivienne Ashford more comfortable.
The dining room contained twelve women, three men, and enough jewelry to pay for a small hospital wing. Vivienne sat at the center of the table, smiling as Sofia approached.
“Miss Navarro. How brave of you to come.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
“I hope we can put the unfortunate incident behind us.”
“Which incident?”
A few guests exchanged glances.
Vivienne's smile remained fixed.
“The gala, of course. You became emotional. It happens to young people who are not accustomed to formal society.”
“I was accustomed to it enough to recognize someone deliberately spilling wine on an elderly woman.”
The room went quiet.
Vivienne lifted her water glass.
“Your interpretation is interesting.”
“My eyesight is excellent.”
One woman coughed to conceal a laugh.
Vivienne set down the glass.
“I understand that Mr. Ferrara has taken an interest in you. That can be flattering, but you should be careful not to confuse gratitude with affection. Powerful men have many reasons for helping people.”
“I'm not confused about Dante Ferrara.”
“Then perhaps you understand why he might eventually grow tired of your little performance.”
Sofia looked around the table.
“Is this what the foundation teaches? That kindness is a performance and cruelty is acceptable if the person you're hurting has the wrong bank account?”
A woman near the window lowered her eyes.
Vivienne leaned closer.
“Let me offer you some advice. Your brother's medical expenses are not inexpensive. Your housing situation is not secure. A few people here could make your life much easier.”
“Are you offering to help Mateo?”
“I'm offering to help you understand the importance of discretion.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The threat hidden inside the favor.”
Vivienne's smile vanished.
“You have no idea what you're interfering with.”
“Then explain it.”
“Some truths are dangerous.”
“Mostly to the people who lied.”
Vivienne stood abruptly, causing her chair to scrape against the floor.
“You are a temporary distraction. Dante will eventually return to people who understand his world.”
“Maybe. But I don't think his mother cares how much money you have.”
For the first time, Vivienne looked genuinely unsettled.
Sofia noticed.
“You know Eleanor remembers something about your family,” she said. “That's why you want me to stop asking questions.”
Vivienne's face hardened.
“You should leave.”
“Gladly.”
Sofia rose, but before she reached the door, a quiet voice came from the far end of the table.
“Miss Navarro.”
An elderly man with a silver tie sat beside the window. He had barely spoken during the luncheon.
“My name is Henry Whitcomb. I served as counsel to the Ferrara family before Mr. Ferrara's father died.”
Vivienne turned sharply.
“Henry, this is not the time.”
He ignored her.
“If you are investigating the old hospital, you need to know that the original records were not destroyed.”
Sofia stopped.
“Where are they?”
Henry glanced at Vivienne, then back at Sofia.
“In a private archive beneath the old Ashford Medical building.”
Vivienne's hand tightened around the back of her chair.
“That's enough.”
Henry rose slowly.
“No,” he said. “It isn't.”
Sofia left the luncheon with one new clue and the certainty that someone had just risked a great deal to give it to her.
Outside, Marcus waited beside the curb.
“How did it go?”
Sofia looked back at the club's tall windows.
“Vivienne Ashford is afraid.”
May you like
“Of you?”
“No.” Sofia climbed into the car. “Of what I'm going to find.”
