The Wren Foundation's headquarters occupied a brick building overlooking the harbor. I had passed it on the bus for years without knowing what happened inside.
On the day of the vote, Graham waited for us in the lobby. Margaret stood near the elevator, holding a folder against her side. When she saw us, she looked at Clara first.
"You don't have to sit through this," she said.
"I want to," Clara replied.
Margaret glanced at me. "This is a business meeting."
"My mother is part of the decision," I said. "So am I."
"Not officially."
Graham stepped closer. "They're with me."
Margaret's expression stayed even. "Then I hope you know what you're doing."
"I do."
We took the elevator to the fourth floor. The conference room had a long wooden table and a row of windows facing the water. Th
