Refer her to my legal team.
Instead I say, “A former board member made decisions without proper oversight. We discovered the irregularities during an internal audit. We’re cooperating fully with regulators to ensure accountability.”
It’s not the full story. Not even close.
But it’s more than I’ve told anyone outside my inner circle.
Clara’s eyebrows rise slightly. She wasn’t expecting a straight answer.
“So you’re taking responsibility for the oversight failure?” she presses.
Fuck.
I suppose I am.
“The foundation operates under my leadership,” I reply. “So ultimately, yes. I take responsibility.”
Clara asks a few more questions. I answer them without violating confidentiality. Keep it factual and measured.
When she finally thanks me and lets me be, I feel like I’ve just survived a shark attack.
Thorne materializes at my elbow. “She’s gone. Keon’s got the SUV ready whenever you are.”
I nod. “Give me five.”
Amara finishes with Mrs. Rolle and walks over. She’s got that look on her face. The one that says we’re about to have a conversation I’m not going to enjoy.
“You hate the spotlight,” she says quietly.
Not a question.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“But you stayed anyway.”
I meet her eyes. “Yeah.”
“Why?” she asks.
Because I hate failing you more.
The words are right there.
On the edge of my tongue.
Ready to wreck whatever fragile professional boundary we’ve been pretending to maintain.
“Because I’m trying to be better.” It’s not the full truth, but not a complete lie, either.
Her expression softens.
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she just turns and walks toward the exit.
I follow.
Outside, the late afternoon sun is unseasonably warm for January, but not uncomfortable. Thorne’s already moving toward the SUV. Keon’s got the engine running, windows down to catch the breeze.
We climb into the back seat. Amara on one side, me on the other. She accepted my offer to carpool earlier, since we’ll be returning to the clinic before heading home anyway.
