She hesitated.
“Somebody said things that worried me.”
Her mother took a breath.
“Then we get help.”
Imani looked toward the floor.
“Mom, I don't have money for another legal dispute.”
Grace was silent.
Then said something that reminded her of childhood.
“You don't have to solve the entire problem before breakfast.”
Imani laughed through tears.
Her mother continued.
“Start with what you know. Keep your records. Talk to somebody qualified. And don't sign anything simply because a rich man tells you it's the easiest way out.”
Imani closed her eyes.
She remembered learning to read Japanese.
Remembered her father sitting beside her at the kitchen table.
Remembered both parents insisting that she finish what she started, even when a task became difficult.
For a moment, she wished Malcolm were still alive.
He would have known what to say.
Then Grace spoke again.
“Your father would have been proud.”
Imani covered her mouth.
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Mom.”
“He would.”
For several seconds, Imani couldn't speak.
Then she whispered, “I miss him.”
Grace's voice softened.
“I know, sweetheart.”
They talked for another twenty minutes.
When the call ended, Imani felt steadier.
Not safe.
Not certain.
But capable of taking the next step.
She called an attorney recommended by a former colleague.
Then she began writing down everything she remembered.
The earlier conversations.
The names.
The changes in Julian's expression.
The exact Japanese wording that concerned her.
And the moment he approached her in the corridor after the dinner.
She preserved the public video without assuming it contained everything important.
Then she sent a short message to the restaurant manager asking that any relevant footage and staffing records be preserved through appropriate procedures.
She didn't know what the next few days would bring.
But she knew one thing.
She wasn't going to let somebody else decide what she'd witnessed.
Walter Sterling watched the viral video in his office shortly after eight that morning.
He sat alone behind an enormous desk overlooking Central Park.
The room contained expensive paintings, awards, and framed photographs from major acquisitions.
On the wall behind him hung a portrait of Eleanor.
She was smiling.
Her hands rested on the arm of a chair.
The photographer had captured her exactly as Walter remembered her before the illness.
Confident.
Warm.
And visibly unimpressed by his attempts to appear more important than everyone else.
He watched the video.
Then watched it again.
The first time, he noticed the contract.
The money.
The laughter.
The second time, he noticed Imani.
She stood beside his chair with her hands clasped.
Her expression was controlled.