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  The Providence Daily has a brief write-up that a body was found in an alley behind the Wrong Side of Hope Bar. There’s a comment that the man was attacked. No one confirms. I check Terrance’s name on social media, but there’s nothing new there either. His last tweet was about an upcoming art show featuring one of his students. Most of his Facebook posts are clips from the Poe Foundation about his Genius Grant.

  There are no other details about Terrance’s murder. No suspects listed.

  I return to the text from Elle with a link to the video of my announcement speech. And her message: 10K views already!

  Just wait, Elle.

  Still, I’m relieved, because this is what I need to piece last night together. My thumb hovers over the link. This video is probably the last footage ever recorded of Terrance Castle.

  How far that possibility was from my mind when I made my argument to the board that we needed to record the announcement. I stood at the head of the long glass table, cocked my hand onto one hip, and said, “Like a tree falling in the forest for no one to hear, if it’s not on video, did it even really happen?”

  We’re about to find out.

  I press play.

  VIDEO TRANSCRIPT 1

  LIVE RECORDING

  THE POE FOUNDATION

  July 10th

  INT. BALLROOM—NIGHT

  JULIET WELLINGTON-SMITH strides across the stage at THE PROVIDENCE HOTEL ballroom in front of a formally dressed crowd.

  JULIET

  Welcome everyone here in the room. You’re looking gorgeous. And welcome to the thousands of viewers watching us live online. I’m Juliet Wellington-Smith, CEO of the Poe Foundation.

  Looking around the room, I see financial supporters who have made this night possible. And I also see a couple people who are just here for the champagne.

  LAUGHTER

  But seriously, we are so grateful for your support, which makes tonight and our big announcement possible.

  Yes, Rhode Island is the smallest state, but that is not just geography. That’s a mentality. We go to Florida beaches before our own. We don’t cross bridges to see the history of Newport, and we don’t drive ten minutes to the Hill to get the best Italian food in New England.

  LAUGHTER

  I see you, Rhode Island. I’ve lived here my whole life, so I get it. But listen, if we don’t appreciate what’s great about us, then how can we grow and improve and do truly great things?

  We need to see ourselves differently. If we do, then we can show the world why we’re great.

  And one of the greatest people in our state is Dr. Terrance Castle. It’s my great honor to announce the first-ever Rhode Island Genius Grant being awarded to him tonight along with a check for one million dollars to spread his message across the country.

  APPLAUSE

  Dr. Castle is not only a Rhode Islander, but he’s a nationally respected professor of American Studies at Brown University and a leading advocate for restorative justice.

  Dr. Castle has put forth remarkable ideas in his books, essays, and national TV appearances that are helping heal divisions within our communities impacted by crime. Let’s welcome Dr. Castle.

  APPLAUSE as TERRANCE CASTLE walks across the stage to stand near JULIET. TERRANCE whispers in her ear, but she continues her speech.

  JULIET

  Now, I’ve only been CEO of the Poe Foundation a few months, but I’m hardly a newbie. In fact, the Poe Foundation was my first job out of Harvard, and I’ve never looked back. Even if our board chair Miller over there wishes I would.

  LAUGHTER

  Being CEO of the Poe Foundation has always been my dream because it’s an incredible organization founded by my father, Louis Worthington, who I’m sure is watching tonight—hi Dad—he had a vision of spreading great ideas from our small state of Rhode Island to the rest of the world.

  Now, thanks to your support, we’re realizing that vision with Dr. Castle leading the way. We can hear more about it from Dr. Castle—

  TERRANCE CASTLE leaves the stage.

  JULIET

  Um, oh, that’s right. We’ll hear from Dr. Castle later. Thank you again. Now, where’s Bob? Let’s saber that giant champagne bottle and have a drink!

  LAUGHTER

  FADE OUT

  Chapter 3

  Ethan finds me in our bedroom after the shower, watching the video of my speech for the third time. He looks pale, almost like he’s been avoiding this conversation too.

  “Hey,” Ethan says softly. “I think someone . . . died near Hope Street.”

  “I know.” My voice breaks, and I start to cry again, not wanting to, but the shock must be wearing off. My heart hurts worse than my head. The pain makes it hard to breathe. “I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I did something so . . . so . . . stupid.”

  “Jesus, Jules.” He shuts the bedroom door with a shaking hand. “What happened?”

  “Last night . . . last night, after the launch . . . I met Terrance for a drink because he was being a diva, basically, and I don’t know. I was drunk. Completely blackout. We were at the Sider, and now . . . he’s dead.”

  Ethan stands at the closed door with his hand still on the doorknob, but the shake has traveled all over his body. It pulses in his broad shoulders like an unknown life-form trying to escape. “This can’t be happening,” he whispers firmly, as if to wake himself from this nightmare. But it gets so much worse.

  I almost want to tell him to go, even if the only certainty I have is how much I need him. The way he loves me and supports me. Still I remember what this can do to a family. What it did to my own family when I was a girl.

  “I drank too much. I’m so embarrassed.” My words are gasps through the tears. I have to pause and try to catch my breath. “The police were here, Ethan. On our porch.” My face burns from shame. “Fitz was inside while the police were . . . asking me questions.”

  He inhales sharply as he crosses the room, and whatever color was in his face is gone. The police make him nervous too. His mother was constantly harassed by them when he was growing up. “What did the cops say?”

  He drops beside me on the bed as I cover my face with my hands and sob. “It’s . . . so . . . terrible.”

  Ethan pulls me into his chest. “Take deep breaths, babe.”

  I try to do as he says, but calming down also means telling the awful truth. Minutes pass, and finally, I’ve tortured us both enough.

  He hands me the tissue box, or maybe he’s been holding it this whole time. I wipe my face of tears and then blow my nose. I throw the fistful of tissues away and then hurry back to him.

  “There’s a detective. Ramos. He said that by Terrance’s . . . body . . . they found my wallet.”

  “Oh my God. Jules. How could that happen?”

  “I don’t remember.” I press my fists to my forehead, willing the memories out. “Total blackout. I remember the launch event. But I’d had so much champagne and nothing to eat all day. I went to Hope Street Pizza. Then the Sider . . . I think.”

  His jaw is frozen open for several seconds before he speaks. “Did anyone see you do anything?”

  “If they did, we’d be having this conversation in jail.”

  “I don’t mean . . . Jules. You would never hurt anyone. I only meant did someone see Dr. Castle being shot or whatever happened?”

  “No, I think they found him . . . dead . . . and my wallet was just there. I have to give a statement to the police.”

  Ethan pulls me close again. “You can’t go by yourself.”

  “I don’t know that I’ll go at all,” I say, remembering my father didn’t either. How the prosecutor really hit that fact hard with the jury, but our lawyer said it was actually Dad’s saving grace. “They’ll try to trap me with their questions and accusations.”

  “But there’s nothing to trap, right?”

  “Innocent people go to jail all the time,” I say.

  “You don’t have to tell me that, Jules.”

  “Sorry.” I d
on’t want to bring up his mother right now. I’m sure this incident is pushing almost as many buttons for him as it is for me. “There must be a good explanation for why Terrance had my wallet when he was murdered. I need time to think.”

  He doesn’t answer and runs his hand along my arm and shoulder, as if soothing us both. I feel him shuddering and sniffing. My mind races from memories of Terrance to memories of my father on trial to wondering if I should go to the police station now to just get it over with.

  I try to freeze my brain and grasp the tasks that must be done:

  I need to call our family lawyer.

  I need a statement strategy. Maybe a video testimony on my own turf instead of their interrogation room and their questions?

  I need to go into work.

  I need to brief the board. We will mourn Terrance, but there’s a legacy too. Once this wallet nonsense clears up, I will lead us forward. I am the best person to make sure we honor him.

  My phone buzzes, and it’s an email from my work account.

  SUBJECT: LEAVE OF ABSENCE EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY

  Juliet: We have heard of the murder of Dr. Castle from his widow, Dez. Her understanding is that you are being questioned by the police because evidence tied to you was found at the crime scene. During this difficult time, I recommended to the board you take a leave of absence without pay. We ask that you respect what’s best for our organization and Dr. Castle’s widow.

  All best,

  Miller

  CC: Board of Directors; Head of Security; Dez Castle

  Chapter 4

  The house is empty and quiet now that Ethan has taken Fitz to the park. I sit with my work computer on my lap, both stunned by my leave of absence at the hands of Miller and damn angry. I have given everything to the Poe Foundation. How dare they treat me this way.

  Finally, the file I’ve been waiting for appears on my computer screen. Elle has sent me all the raw footage from last night’s event. Perhaps there was a fight with Terrance and a guest? Or if I could jog my memory a bit so that the end of the night is clearer.

  Elle sends a message with the link:

  Hey sweetie: sorry it’s messy, but it’ll all cool off soon. I’ve got your back, girlfriend, so sit tight and stay offline! Google is not your friend! More soon xoxo

  I click play, and the video begins with a shot of the Providence Hotel ballroom. The chandeliers glitter onto the pale marble-tiled floors. There are cocktail tables with red tablecloths cinched with bows. Waiters with trays of hors d’oeuvres I carefully chose weave in and out of the formally dressed crowd.

  I come into the frame as I’m greeting a funder. Elle interrupts, and I remember her saying I’m “hashtag Holly Golightly” in my “hashtag boss babe” black dress.

  Seeing myself laugh on camera, I remember appreciating the pep talk. When you’re running the show, people are always taking shots. I wondered if that was part of why the Poe Foundation board agreed to promote me to CEO, even with all the history with my father. Because I’ve had whispers behind my back my whole life. People taking aim at my family. But I survived.

  Even that night, my night, it was so easy to imagine the whispers:

  Can you believe they made her CEO?

  After what her father did?

  No way she’ll pull this off.

  Apple can’t fall that far from the tree.

  When the camera pans the crowd, I fast-forward. After my speech and Terrance storming off, I found him sulking in the corner. While the camera is too far to pick up our voices, I remember.

  “What happened up there?” I said nicely, even though I felt like screaming the words. “Are you okay?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Are you nervous?” I offered, though that couldn’t have been it. It was a room of funders and schmoozers here for the drinks and their photos with the famous-for-Rhode-Island Terrance Castle. “Talk to me.”

  “I am nervous, but it’s about the direction we’re going.” He stared down at his drink. “I’m not sure I’m the right person for what you want.”

  “You’re the only person,” I said and touched his arm.

  “I don’t like where we ended up.” He paused and searched my gaze, as if hoping I’d understand. “I can’t lead if I’m only saying what people want to hear.”

  “And you don’t want the money? One million dollars to go all over the country. You’ll throw that away?”

  “It was never mine,” he said. “I won’t be bought, Jules.”

  This old argument. “We can talk about it later. Right now we need to get a giant bottle of champagne sabered.”

  “I can’t. I will not. Are you hearing me?” He stared at me as if we were strangers and not two people who’d come up with this idea together. “This country needs to have real conversations about crime,” he said. “We are all responsible. You only want to make people feel better.”

  “What about Dez?” I asked about his wife, who was usually on my side. “She can’t agree with you?”

  “It’s not her decision.”

  Maybe this whole idea was too fast, too soon. “Okay. Let’s talk about it later. We can meet for a drink and hash it out like we do.”

  I smiled at him, and he half smiled back. “Text me after, Jules,” he said.

  On the video, Terrance looks angry as he leaves the ballroom. Elle comes up to me right after, and I remember that too.

  “You got a minute?” Elle asked. “Miller is not happy about tonight. He gave me an earful. He’s doing the same with other board members.”

  The camera catches my eye roll. “What else?” I asked, not wanting to dwell.

  “Phillip Hale called again. He is persistent about getting that interview with Dr. Castle.”

  I wrinkled my nose at my ex-boyfriend’s name, even if he is a journalist now and we broke up a lifetime ago. “Next.”

  “It might be nice, though, to have him interview Dr. Castle. He said Terrance was a mentor to him.”

  “It’s complicated with Phillip. Listen, we’re about to go on a national tour. I want your brilliant brain focused on the big picture. We’re going to be choosing between Nina Totenberg and Savannah Guthrie.”

  The camera catches Elle’s smile, but I can see she’s annoyed.

  I gave her a goodbye air-kiss before I said, “I need to grab a champagne to get this toast going.”

  I was nervous as I walked across the room, glass in hand and faking a calm smile. I was thinking of my father’s advice: Don’t let them see you sweat, kid. They’ll think it’s permission to pour on the gasoline.

  The video comes closer to me and follows my path. I gently tap my glass with a butter knife, leading the crowd toward a large table in the center of the room. The camera pauses close to me and the 144 glasses I’d stacked perfectly with a level into a champagne tower.

  The camera shows Miller Marks creep next to me with his Poe Foundation board chair attitude.

  The video has more shots of the crowd, but I remember the conversation with Miller too. It likely kicked off my champagne binge.

  Miller leaned his droopy face in my direction. “This is a mistake.”

  I took a deep breath, thinking I wanted to be this guy in my next life. Who gets to criticize everything but doesn’t deign to suggest a damn thing that’ll keep the lights on. “It’s a million-dollar launch. You want me to invite our funders to the Haven Brothers food truck instead?”

  “It looks preposterous,” he said. “We’re a donor-supported foundation, not the Newport Yacht Club.”

  “Are you an optics expert now, Miller?” I took a sip of champagne. “In that suit?”

  “If I was, then I’d never have let the board hire you,” he said.

  I almost wish he had stood up to the board in opposition to me. Instead, he’d been complaining to anyone who’d listen that my big idea to launch a Rhode Island Genius Grant was destined to fail. The old guard does just that and guards the old ideas that kept the Poe Foundation in the s
ame forgettable place since my father was forced to leave it thirty years ago. They took it from him. But I’ll be damned if they take it from me.

  The video focuses on my motioning forward two thick-necked servers. They proceed to lift a three-foot-tall bottle of Moët champagne and stride across the shining marble floors.

  As they approach, another man steps forward and raises his saber into the air. The silver crescent-shaped sword catches in the chandelier light, and the crowd softly gasps. Bob the saber bearer is the owner of a French restaurant not too far from this hotel. He waves the sword in circles like Prince Ali. This time, the camera picks up Miller’s words.

  “This is a big mistake,” he says. “Those champagne flutes are going to crash and kill Dr. Castle.”

  I gasp and hit pause on the video at his words. Little did we know it’d be something . . . someone who’d do that later that night. I hit play, and the next few seconds are of me drinking champagne.

  “How many of those are you going to have?” Miller says. “Just like your—”

  “Enough.”

  I can almost see on the video the uptick of white-hot rage beginning to constrict my ribs against my dress. I watch as I inhale and take a long sip. I want to say to my past self:

  Stop, Jules.

  Have a glass of water.

  Eat a bite or two. Don’t prove them right.

  It will be the biggest mistake of your life.

  The camera shifts to Bob raising his saber, and it’s ten points for pageantry. The crowd goes quiet.

  “Who will hold the bottle for me?” Bob calls out. “Any volunteers?”

  The Moët was too big to hold in one hand with the saber in the other.

  “I told you, Jules,” Miller says. “Let the failures begin.”

  I grin and step forward, as if it was all a fun mistake. “I’ll do it!” I call out with a Vanna White wave.

  The crowd applauds as I head toward the tower of glasses. I remember thinking I couldn’t have planned it any better. It all worked out. But it always does.

  I prop the bottle on my left hip. “Not sure getting sabered was in my job description.”