The Board Meeting
1471 Words
11:00 AM.
The Ashford Foundation Boardroom.
39th floor.
All glass.
You could see the whole city.
Long table.
12 chairs.
11 of them full.
All suits. All older than me.
All men except Eleanor and one other woman.
Eleanor was at the head.
She nodded when I walked in.
“Dr. Carter.”
“Just Maya,” I said.
“Just Maya,” she repeated.
I sat in the chair to her right.
Empty.
Lucien’s old chair.
No one said anything for 3 seconds.
Then:
“Where is he?”
Old man. Left side. Silver hair.
“Mr. Whitmore,” Eleanor said. “This is Dr. Maya Carter.She’s running the grant audit.”
“I asked where Lucien is,” he said.
I looked at him.
“He’s not coming,” I said. “This is mine.”
He snorted.
“Right. The girlfriend.”
Eleanor’s pen stopped.
“Whitmore,” she said.
“What,” he said. “We all know why she’s here.”
I set my folder down.
Thick.
Notes. Numbers. Names.
4 days of work.
“You’re right,” I said. “You do know why I’m here.Because someone has to clean this up.”
Silence.
I opened the folder.
“34 grants reviewed,12 with irregularities,4 confirmed fraud,$18.4 million misallocated.”
Heads lifted.
Whitmore leaned back.
“That’s not possible.”
“It is,” I said. “I called them.I have recordings. I have receipts.”
I slid copies across the table.
No one touched them.
“Dr. Armitage in Ohio. $2M for archives. Bought bleachers. Dr. Hale in Texas. $5M for cancer research. Bought a boat.Dr. Singh in California. $1.2M for scholarships. Paid his mortgage.”
I looked up.
“And 8 others who did what they were supposed to do.But got half the funding they asked for because the money ran out after the frauds.”
Eleanor picked up one page.
Read it.
“Who approved these?”
“You know who,” I said.
Whitmore shifted.
“He was under pressure. The board wanted—”
“The board wanted results,” I cut in. “He wanted speed.So he skipped oversight.And people got hurt.”
A woman across from me.Mrs. Delgado. Only other woman besides Eleanor.
She’d been quiet.
“Dr. Carter,” she said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Why you?”
“Because I said yes,” I said.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” I said. “Because I’m not him.And I’m not afraid of what I’ll find.”
She nodded. Slow.
“Fair.”
Whitmore wasn’t done.
“And what qualifies you to do this?You were a research assistant 6 months ago.”
“I was,” I said. “And I read every grant he signed.
I was in the room when he fast-tracked them.I’m the only one here who knows what he did and why he did it.”
“Because you slept with him,” Whitmore said.
The room went still.
Eleanor put her pen down.
“Whitmore.”
“No,” I said. “Let him.”
I looked at him.
“Yes,” I said. “I did.And that’s exactly why I can do this.Because I love him.And I’m still going to hold him accountable.”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
I flipped to the next page.
“Here’s what we do.”
“1. Freeze all remaining funds from the 12 irregular grants.
2. Demand repayment from the 4 frauds. Legal if needed.
3. Reallocate that money to the 8 underfunded real projects.
4. New oversight committee. Me. Eleanor. Mrs. Delgado.
No fast-tracking without 2 signatures.”
I closed the folder.
“That’s it.”
Whitmore laughed.
“You think we’ll let you—”
“Yes,” Eleanor said.
Everyone looked at her.
“I do,” she said. “Because she’s right.And because if we don’t do this,the IRS does it for us.”
More silence.
Mrs. Delgado spoke.
“I vote yes.”
Eleanor: “Yes.”
One by one.
8 yes.
3 no.
Whitmore abstained.
“Motion passes,” Eleanor said.
She looked at me.
“Congratulations, Dr. Carter.You just got a job and a committee.”
The room cleared out.
Fast.
Like I had a disease.
Except Eleanor.
And Mrs. Delgado.
Delgado came to me.Shook my hand.
“Good work,” she said. “My son’s lab was one of the underfunded ones. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
She left.
Eleanor and I were alone.
She poured water.
Handed me a glass.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “My hands are shaking but yes.”
“Good,” she said. “That means it mattered.”
She sat.
“You know what?”
“What.”
“I hired you because of him.I’m keeping you because of you.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
Lucien was there.
In a coffee shop across the street.
Watching the door.
He stood when he saw me.
“How’d it go?”
“Passed,” I said.
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
He exhaled.
Like he’d been holding his breath.
“Can I hug you?”
“Yes.”
He did.
Right there.
In the lobby.
Didn’t care who saw.
“You’re shaking,” he said into my hair.
“I know.”
“Proud of you,” he said. “So f*****g proud.”
We pulled apart.
“Can we go home?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Anywhere you want.”
---
In the car.
He drove.
I stared out the window.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“They asked why you,” I said.
“And?”
“And I told them the truth.”
“What truth.”
“That I love you.And that I’m still going to fix what you broke.”
He was quiet.
“That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Don’t,” I said.
“Don’t what.”
“Don’t make it bigger than it is.I just told the truth.”
“That’s what makes it brave,” he said.
He reached over.
Took my hand.
“Can I come to your office tonight?”
“To work?”
“Yes.”
“Yes,” I said.
---
7:00 PM. My Office.
File open.
Coffee.
Him on the floor.
Me at the desk.
We worked.
Called 3 more schools.
2 clean. 1 mess.
At 9:00 PM he stopped.
“Can we take a break?”
“Yes.”
He came around the desk.
Sat in my chair.
Pulled me into his lap.
“Are you scared?”
“Of the board?”
“No. Of this.”
“This what?”
“Us. Doing this. Together.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not.”
“Me neither,” he said.
He was quiet.
Then: “Whitmore said that thing.About why you’re here.”
“I know.”
“Does it bother you?”
“No,” I said. “Because it’s not true.I’m here despite you,not because of you.”
He hugged me tighter.
“Good,” he said. “Because you’re the best thing
that’s happened to this foundation in 20 years.”
---
10:30 PM. Home.
Takeout.
On the floor.
Again.
File next to us.
TV off.
Just us.
“I’m tired,” I said. “But it’s a good tired.”
“I know,” he said. “Me too.”
“More calls,More fraud,” he said.
“More fixing,” I said.
He smiled.
“Can I stay?”
“You ask that every night.”
“I know,” he said. “And you say yes every night.So?”
“So yes,” I said.
He pulled me down.
We lay there.
File on one side.
Him on the other.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
“You always ask.”
“I like asking,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
He did.
Not desperate.
Not sorry.
Just... here.
7:00 AM..The next morning
Text from Eleanor.
Whitmore resigned.
Effective immediately.
Said the foundation had “lost its way.”
Me: Okay.
I showed Lucien.
He read it.
Set his phone down.
“Good,” he said.
“You’re not mad?”
“No,” he said. “He should’ve left 2 years ago.”
He made coffee.
Two cups.
Handed me one.
“Morning, Committee Chair Carter,” he said.
“Don’t,” I said.
“Why not.”
“Because it’ll go to my head.”
“Too late,” he said.
He kissed me.
“Go fix it,” he said.
“I will,” I said.
- Writer
