Placed her bag on the table.
And opened the project summary on her phone.
East River Music House.
The building was more than an address.
It was the place where her mother taught neighborhood children how to find their voices, where Malik discovered he could make an entire room listen by striking a drum at the right moment, and where Nia began believing that music could connect people who didn't share the same language.
Now a billionaire wanted to invest in a project that could destroy it.
And another millionaire had spent the evening laughing at the idea that she understood Korean.
Nia looked toward the window.
Then whispered.
"Mom, you are not going to believe what happened tonight."
Denise was awake when Nia entered the kitchen the following morning.
She sat beside the table wearing a blue cardigan, a cup of tea resting near her right hand. Her speech had improved considerably, though certain words still required patience and extra time.
She looked toward her daughter.
"Late night?"
Nia smiled faintly.
"Very."
Denise studied her face.
Then narrowed her eyes.
"What happened?"
Nia laughed.
"How do you always know?"
Her mother smiled.
"Teacher."
They sat together.
Nia explained the dinner, the wager, and the Korean businessman's recognition of the subway song.
Denise listened quietly.
When Nia mentioned Soo-bin, her mother's eyes filled.
"The little girl?"
Nia nodded.
"She's eleven now."
Denise pressed one hand against her chest.
For a moment, she seemed overwhelmed.
Then she whispered.
"Oh, baby."
Nia smiled through tears.
"She's okay, Mom."
Denise reached for her hand.
The two women sat quietly while Nia described the video call.
Then she mentioned Holloway's redevelopment proposal.
Her mother's expression changed immediately.
"East River?"
Nia nodded.
Denise looked toward the wall, where photographs from years of student performances hung beside a small calendar.
For several seconds, she remained silent.
Then she spoke slowly.
"Those children... need that place."
Nia squeezed her hand.
"I know."
Her mother looked directly at her.
"Then show him."
Nia nodded.
"I will."
Denise smiled faintly.
Then added.
"And don't sing for another foolish man's entertainment unless you want to."
Nia laughed.
For the first time since the dinner, the humiliation felt a little smaller.
East River Music House occupied a redbrick building between a laundromat and an old furniture warehouse.
The entrance was painted deep blue, and a faded mural of musical notes climbed the wall beside the door. Inside were three rehearsal rooms, a small performance hall, two classrooms, a storage area overflowing with instruments, and a narrow office whose window looked toward the street.