For the first time, he seemed to notice the blue star.
"Where'd you get that?"
I looked down.
"My granddaughter sewed it back."
The president stared.
"Your granddaughter?"
I nodded.
He leaned against the table.
For several seconds, he seemed to be calculating something.
Then he smiled.
"Well, congratulations."
I didn't answer.
He looked toward the folder.
Then sighed.
"If this is about those old allegations, we settled that years ago."
I shook my head.
"No."
His smile faded.
I continued.
"We stopped talking about them."
He stared.
"What's the difference?"
"The records were never independently examined."
He folded his arms.
"You're bringing this nonsense back because of a family reunion?"
I took a breath.
"No."
Then I opened the folder.
I showed him the authorization dates.
The access suspension notice.
And the vendor information.
His expression changed.
Not immediately.
But enough.
He stopped leaning casually against the table.
He began asking where the documents came from.
Who had reviewed them.
Whether they were originals.
I answered what I knew.
Then told him the records would be submitted for professional review.
He became angry.
"You're going to tear apart this club over something that happened almost a decade ago?"
I looked at him.
"No."
He stared.
I continued.
"I'm going to ask for an honest examination of money collected for children."
His jaw tightened.
"And if it damages the club?"
I swallowed.
"Then we should've protected the club by maintaining accurate records in the first place."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he pointed toward the patch.
"Your daughter has you wrapped around her finger from the grave."
The sentence hit me like a slap.
My friend stood abruptly.
"Watch your mouth."
I raised one hand.
He stopped.
The president looked toward me.
Waiting.
Maybe he expected me to shout.
To threaten him.
To react the way I had nine years earlier.
Instead, I slowly closed the folder.
Then stood.
"My daughter asked for the truth."
He scoffed.
I continued.
"You were the one who convinced me that asking questions was disloyal."
His expression hardened.
I looked directly into his eyes.
"I won't make that mistake again."
Then I gathered the documents.
And walked out.
My friend followed.
Outside, the wind had turned cold.
He looked toward me.
"That went better than I expected."
I laughed bitterly.
"You expected worse?"
He nodded.
"Honestly, yeah."
I glanced toward the clubhouse.
Nine years earlier, I would have settled the confrontation by raising my voice.