SHE WAS FIRED AND WALKING HOME—THEN 5 MAFIA BOSS SUPERCARS SURROUNDED HER, ASKING FOR THE NURSE

I went to the Northlake gala for three reasons. First, I wanted to ask Alyssa Voss questions where she could not pretend I was unavailable. Second, Meredith believed the event might reveal which legitimate organizations had been drawn into Northlake's financial network. Third, Dante had bought me a dress I intended to wear at least once before returning it to its decorative prison of tissue paper.

"You understand we're attending as guests, not investigators," Meredith reminded us.

"You keep saying that like you suspect me," I replied.

"I read the hospital incident reports."

Fair.

The gala occupied the ballroom of a luxury hotel overlooking the river. Cameras flashed as we arrived. A reporter shouted a question about the rejected donation. Dante looked ready to become inconvenient, but I answered first.

"We welcome independent funding. We don't exchange patient privacy for it."

It was the entire truth in thirteen words. Evidently that was too many for the headline writers.

Inside, Voss greeted us beneath a wall of photographs showing smiling children, clean white medical vans, and brightly painted clinics. The photographs were beautiful. I wondered how many of the children had actually received the care the display claimed.

"Laurel. Dante. I'm delighted you came."

"We wouldn't miss an opportunity to see what you've been telling people about us," I said.

Dante coughed into his fist. Voss smiled through it.

She introduced Harlan Cross as Northlake's chief operations adviser. He was a silver-haired man with an immaculate tuxedo and hands that never seemed quite still. Dante shook his hand without warmth.

"Your father was a visionary," Cross said.

"He thought differently about your invoices," Dante replied.

Cross's smile faltered. "There were disagreements. Long ago."

"We're reviewing them," Meredith said pleasantly.

I was beginning to understand why she wore comfortable shoes to parties. Lawyers expected to stand through a lot of uncomfortable conversations.

The evening proceeded in a blur of speeches.

One of the people I met was a retired school principal named Gloria Chen. She donated to Northlake because she'd seen children arrive at school without access to basic care. She asked me whether our clinic's refusal meant we objected to partnerships altogether. I showed her the broad outlines of our independent governance requirements, then told her the specifics were available in our public documents.

"That's more complicated than their brochure," she said.

"Patients are more complicated than brochures."

She laughed, but her next question was serious. "If Northlake is investigated, what happens to the families who use it now?"

It was the best question I'd heard all night. I told her any responsible response had to keep legitimate programs functioning while disputed claims were reviewed. I wasn't interested in replacing one empty promise with another. Gloria gave me her card and offered to introduce our staff to a network of community volunteers. She didn't ask which wealthy family was paying for the room or whether my engagement ring came from a notorious jeweler. She asked where the need was greatest. I wished the gala's organizers had done the same. Several speakers described real programs and genuine volunteers. That mattered. A crooked leadership team could harm not only patients but also honest employees whose work deserved support. I spoke with two nurses who believed in Northlake's mission and had no access to financial decisions. One mentioned that transportation vouchers had been mysteriously restricted while executive travel expenses rose.

At dinner, Voss approached our table with a revised offer. It removed the request for direct patient data but granted Northlake exclusive rights to evaluate our programs through its preferred contractors. The contractor named in a footnote was Cross Analytics.

"You replaced one locked door with another," I told her.

"You see conspiracies where I see efficiency."

"Maybe. Then independent audits should be easy."

Her gaze sharpened. "Your mother wasn't so eager to bring in outsiders."

The room seemed to tilt. "You knew my mother?"

"Of course. She was passionate. Sometimes passion made her careless."

"Careless how?"

Voss leaned closer. "She knew what the records could do to families if they became public. She agreed to stop."

I wanted to throw my water into her face. Instead, I remembered Elaine's notebook, which said she had stopped sharing evidence after a witness's confidential identity was leaked. I took a breath.

"She stopped because people were endangered. That isn't the same as agreeing you were right."

Voss's expression closed.

At the far end of the ballroom, Nadia Price watched our exchange. When I stepped into the corridor, she followed. She showed me a copy of a public procurement filing connecting Northlake, Cross Logistics, and a property company that had recently purchased parcels surrounding our planned expansion.

"They're not just after your patient data," Nadia said. "They're buying the neighborhood."

I stared at the map. If the developer controlled our future access road, construction would become a nightmare. The maneuver was legal on its face, but the timing felt anything but accidental.

"Who owns the property company?"

"Its disclosures lead to a private fund. My source says Cross is managing it. I'm verifying the documents before publishing."

I thanked her and returned to Dante. We left before the final speech. In the car, he told me his company had received an offer to acquire the same parcels through an intermediary. It looked as though someone was trying to maneuver him into a bidding war he did not want.

Then I checked my phone. My wedding venue had canceled. So had the caterer. Both cited an anonymous warning about the Moretti family's alleged security risks.