“Pressure is an understatement,” Cordelia replies, her professional mask slipping a notch further. “Balthasar became increasingly insistent about transparency. He seemed to think that his potential sponsorship gave him the right to audit our entire operation.”
“And when you couldn’t provide what he wanted?”
“Oh, I could have provided it,” she says quickly, then catches herself. “I mean, everything was perfectly legitimate, of course. It’s just that some business arrangements require confidentiality agreements, privacy protections for beneficiaries, that sort of thing.”
What I couldn’t provide was evidence of programs that actually existed,she thinks with growing agitation.The man wanted to shake hands with children who were purely theoretical.
Oh my word! I’m pretty sure she should be arrested for that alone!
I clear my throat, trying my best not to look miffed. “So, you two didn’t part on the best of terms?”
“Let’s just say our business relationship became strained to the point where restraining orders seemed like a reasonable possibility,” Cordelia says, her ice-blue eyes hardening as if she spotted a particularly annoying insect that needs squashing. And I’m getting the feeling she squashed the bug in question. “Balthasar had a tendency to make threats when he didn’t get his way. Completely unprofessional behavior that would make a mob boss blush.”
“Threats?”
“Nothing physical, of course,” she says quickly. “Just ultimatums about exposing supposed irregularities unless I agreed to make him a full partner in Goldleaf Enterprises. Complete nonsense, naturally, but the kind of harassment that can damage a foundation’s reputation regardless of merit.”
The bastard was going to destroy everything I’ve built unless I handed over half my company,she thinks to herself.Twenty yearsof carefully constructed success ruined by one man’s obsession with his type of accountability.
“That must have been incredibly stressful,” I cringe as I say it because that confession going off in her mind is making me very uncomfortable.
“Stress is part of running any successful enterprise,” Cordelia replies with forced composure. “Though I have to say, if you’re looking for someone who had real problems with Balthasar, you should talk to Matilda Westoff.”
And there it is—the deflection I’ve been waiting for.
“Matilda?”
“Oh yes,” Cordelia says with relief at changing the subject. “Those two had a business rivalry that went back years. Matilda was absolutely furious about Balthasar’s competitive tactics, and frankly, I think she was desperate enough to do something drastic.”
Thank goodness I can point suspicion toward someone with equally compelling motives,she thinks.Matilda’s chocolate business problems should provide excellent cover for my own difficulties.
“What kind of competitive tactics?”
What kind of difficulties is what I really want to ask!
“Industrial sabotage, contract stealing, the usual dirty tricks of desperate people,” Cordelia says with growing enthusiasm for this new narrative. “Matilda has been struggling financially for months, and Balthasar was systematically destroying what was left of her market share.”
“And you think she might have...”
“I think desperation makes people capable of things they’d never normally consider,” Cordelia says meaningfully. “A woman facing the loss of her family business, her legacy, her financial security? That’s a dangerous combination.”
I really should get back to my other guests,she thinks suddenly, glancing toward the refreshment area where the sounds of animated conversation suggest Georgie might be conductinganother staff evaluation.This conversation is getting too close to dangerous territory.
“Well,” Cordelia says with forced brightness, “I should really check on everyone else. Please do help yourself to the refreshments—those pastries really are divine.”
She practically flees toward the safety of group socializing, leaving me standing alone next to her charity foundation display with significantly more questions than answers.
That’s when I hear the distinctive sound of Southern charm approaching at conversational speed.
“Well, that looked like quite the intense discussion,” Jennilee says, appearing beside me with the kind of perfect timing that suggests she’s been waiting for Cordelia to leave. “You two seemed pretty deep in conversation there.”
“Yes, we were talking about Balthasar Thornfield,” I say, watching her reaction and hoping I don’t look like someone digging for clues at a social gathering.
“Oh, sweet tea and crumpets!” The change in her expression is immediate and well, pretty dramatic. Her face crumples with what appears to be genuine sympathy, and she glances in Cordelia’s direction with the kind of compassionate concern usually reserved for natural disaster victims. “Oh, bless your heart,” she says, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Please don’t tell Cordelia I said so, but that poor woman was just in way over her head with that man.”
“What do you mean?”
Jennilee glances around to make sure we’re not being overheard, then leans closer.
