Chapter 3 - the favor Lauren needed
The next morning Lauren called me before seven.
"Are you awake?"
"I have a six week old."
"So yes."
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
I sat up in bed.
People who call before seven to announce that nothing happened are usually about to ask for something.
Lauren continued.
"I need a favor."
There it was.
"What?"
"At the event Saturday, I need you to publicly confirm the board meeting is postponed."
I stared at the wall.
"What board meeting?"
"The one Tuesday."
"It's not postponed."
"It should be."
"Why?"
"Grant says financial reports won't be ready."
"They're already late."
"Exactly."
"Then Tuesday stays."
Lauren went quiet.
"Claire, I'm trying to prevent unnecessary drama."
"How does delaying a board meeting prevent drama?"
"Because you are planning to bring an auditor in Monday."
There it was again.
This time she said it directly.
I stood.
"Who told you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Grant heard something."
"From whom?"
"You're not the CIA."
"Lauren."
She sighed.
"Fine. Maybe somebody from the accounting office mentioned an outside document request."
The auditor had requested nothing from foundation accounting yet.
Which meant that explanation was a lie.
I walked into the nursery.
Mila was stirring.
"Tuesday stays."
"Claire."
"No."
"This is exactly what I mean."
"What do you mean?"
"You are making decisions emotionally."
I laughed once.
"Because I won't cancel a board meeting?"
"Because you're still recovering."
"From childbirth?"
"From Aaron."
That silenced me.
Lauren softened her voice immediately.
"I am worried about you."
"Don't."
"You're barely sleeping."
"I have a newborn."
"You cry all the time."
"My husband died."
"I know."
"Then stop using grief as evidence that I can't do my job."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Mila began fussing.
I lifted her from the bassinet.
Lauren continued.
"Let me take some pressure off Saturday."
"You already said you'd help with Mila."
"I mean more than that."
"No."
"Claire."
"I'll see you Saturday."
I ended the call.
For almost a minute, I stood in the nursery holding Mila while anger moved through me in waves.
Then my phone rang again.
Grant.
I nearly ignored it.
Instead I answered.
"Claire."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"I understand there has been confusion over historical vendor files."
"Send me Brightwell's service documentation."
"I already sent available files."
"I want delivery records."
A pause.
"Those may no longer exist."
"For invoices less than two years old?"
"The company was acquired."
"By whom?"
"I would need to check."
"Do that."
"Claire, may I say something personally?"
"No."
He said it anyway.
"Your mother understood that nonprofit operations are not always clean on paper."
"My mother documented everything."
"Not everything."
The words disturbed me.
"What does that mean?"
"Only that organizations sometimes rely on relationships and informal arrangements."
"Not for a hundred thousand dollars."
He became silent.
Then said, "Lauren is concerned about you."
I closed my eyes.
"Interesting."
"She believes the workload may be too much."
"Did she ask you to say that?"
"No."
"Then why are you?"
"Because there is a board meeting Tuesday, and several trustees have raised concerns."
"About what?"
"Stability."
There was that word.
Stability.
It sounded clinical.
Deliberate.
Prepared.
"Whose stability?"
He did not answer.
Mine.
I looked down at Mila.
"What exactly are you building, Grant?"
"I don't understand."
"Yes, you do."
"Claire."
"If the board wants to discuss my position, they can do it openly."
"No one is threatening your position."
"Good."
I ended the call.
That afternoon, an email appeared in my inbox.
It came from my aunt Diane, a foundation trustee.
Subject: Saturday logistics.
Near the bottom, one sentence stood out.
Lauren mentioned you may need to leave early if the baby becomes difficult. We can cover your speech if necessary.
I called Diane.
She answered immediately.
"Darling."
"Did Lauren tell you I might leave early?"
"She said you were worried Mila could become overstimulated."
"I never said that."
"Oh."
"Did she say anything else?"
Diane hesitated.
"Nothing important."
"What?"
"Claire."
"What?"
"She said you've been struggling since Aaron died."
I pressed my fingertips against my forehead.
"In what way?"
"Emotionally."
"I am grieving."
"Of course."
"Did she say I was unstable?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
"Diane."
"She said you were under tremendous strain."
"And?"
"That perhaps the board should be ready to support you."
"Support me how?"
Another pause.
"Temporarily."
I understood.
Lauren was preparing people.
Not accusing me.
Not yet.
She was planting concerns.
Small ones.
Reasonable ones.
A grieving widow.
A new mother.
Sleep deprived.
Overwhelmed.
Suspicious about finances.
Making accusations.
Planning an audit.
What happened next could easily be framed as compassionate intervention.
That evening, I called the foundation attorney, Samuel Price.
"Can the board remove me?"
"From executive director?"
"Yes."
"With sufficient votes."
"For being exhausted?"
"Not normally."
"What if there was an incident involving Mila?"
Samuel became quiet.
"What kind of incident?"
"I don't know."
That was the problem.
I did not know.
I only had a feeling.
And feelings are not evidence.
"Claire, is there something you aren't telling me?"
"No."
I looked at Mila sleeping beside me.
"Not yet."
Before bed, I checked the event schedule again.
2:05.
Executive director remarks.
My speech.
The exact time Lauren had asked about.
I stared at the number for a long time.
Then I took a screenshot.
May you like
I did not know why.
Six days later, I would understand.
