Chapter 3: The Weight of Silence
As Saffron walked toward the grand mahogany exit doors, the sea of high-society figures parted before her as if she carried a contagious disease. No one offered a napkin to clean the cream from her face, and no one spoke her name. They merely watched her go with guarded expressions, calculating how her sudden rebellion might impact their own investments and social standing.
Mei-Ling stood frozen, her chest heaving as the adrenaline slowly receded, leaving behind a cold, bitter anger. She turned her fierce gaze back toward Clara, who was now smoothing down the sleeves of her white dress with a preoccupied frown.
"You let her walk out," Mei-Ling accused, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You stood there and let her threaten us, and then you helped her make her exit by playing the peacekeeper."
Clara sighed, looking up to meet Mei-Ling’s furious eyes. "What did you want me to do, Mei? Tackle her to the ground in front of three city councilmen and the director of the arts foundation? We are already sitting on a powder keg. Creating a physical brawl in the middle of a charity gala is a surefire way to make the evening news."
"Let them film it," Mei-Ling spat, walking over to the bar to grab a glass of ice water. Her hands shook slightly as she lifted the crystal tumbler to her lips. "If Saffron thinks she can destroy five years of work with a forged ledger and a dramatic exit, she's severely mistaken. I built this foundation from the ground up. I brought every single donor into this room. She was just an accountant we hired off the street to crunch numbers."
"She wasn't just an accountant," Clara reminded her softly, stepping closer. "She was your closest confidante for three years, Mei. She knows where every account is held, every overseas contact, every loophole we used to keep the endowment afloat during the downturn."
Mei-Ling slammed the glass down onto the bar, a few drops of water splashing over the rim and onto the polished wood. "Which means she's just as implicated as we are if those funds are traced incorrectly. She thinks she's a whistleblower, but legally, she's an accomplice unless she proves otherwise. And right now, she looks like a disgruntled employee who got a piece of dessert smashed into her face for good reason."
May you like
Clara looked at the smear of white cream that had fallen from Saffron's face onto the floor near the bar, tracking the dark trail toward the exit. "Who threw the cake, Mei? I didn't see it happen. I just turned around when you started yelling."
Mei-Ling’s eyes darted away for a fraction of a second—a micro-expression of guilt that did not escape Clara's sharp scrutiny. "It doesn't matter who threw it," Mei-Ling muttered, turning away to stare out the rain-streaked window. "She deserved worse."
