"She became trouble only when you decided not to listen."
The following Saturday, Grant Holloway arrived at East River Music House.
He wore a navy jacket, an expensive white shirt, and shoes that looked entirely unsuitable for the building's worn wooden floors.
Elaine accompanied him.
So did a representative from the community board.
Nia wasn't expecting him.
She was helping Lena practice a performance when Sun-hee appeared in the doorway.
Her expression was unreadable.
"Nia."
The younger woman looked up.
"What is it?"
Sun-hee hesitated.
"Mr. Holloway is here."
Nia felt her stomach tighten.
For a moment, Lena stopped playing.
The teenager looked toward her teacher.
"Is he the man from the video?"
Nia nodded.
Lena's expression hardened.
"I don't like him."
Nia smiled gently.
"You don't have to."
Then she added.
"But we're going to let him see what happens here."
She stood.
Straightened her sweater.
And walked toward the hallway.
Holloway was examining a wall covered with photographs of student performances.
For several seconds, he didn't notice her.
Then he turned.
Their eyes met.
The millionaire's expression changed.
For a moment, he looked as uncomfortable as she felt.
"Nia."
She nodded politely.
"Mr. Holloway."
He glanced toward the classrooms.
Then back at her.
"I didn't realize you worked here."
"I volunteer here."
He nodded.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Holloway looked toward the hall.
"Would you show me around?"
Nia studied him.
She could have refused.
She could have asked Sun-hee to handle the visit.
But then she remembered Lena.
The other children.
And her mother's years of work inside the building.
She took a slow breath.
"Of course."
Then she added calmly.
"But please remember these are students, not part of a business presentation."
Holloway looked at her.
For a moment, his expression tightened.
Then he nodded.
"Understood."
Nia opened the classroom door.
And for the first time, the millionaire who had described East River Music House as an inefficient property stepped inside while the music was playing.
The first room they visited contained six children practicing violin.
The teacher was a retired orchestra musician who volunteered twice a week. She stood beside a battered music stand, correcting finger placement while a younger student struggled to keep her bow straight.
Holloway watched for less than a minute.
Then he looked toward the ceiling.
The paint was peeling.
A heating vent rattled.
And the windows had been patched to prevent cold air from entering.
"This place needs work," he said.
Nia nodded.
"Yes."
He looked surprised.
"You agree?"