A week later, Eleanor found herself pushing a squeaky grocery cart down an aisle at the Willow Creek Market. She paused by the organic produce, picking through a bin of apples, when a shadow fell over her.
“Mrs. Caldwell?”
It was Sarah Chen, Elias’s executive assistant, her usually crisp professional attire replaced by a simple sweater and jeans. Sarah’s hands trembled slightly as she adjusted a carton of eggs in her own basket. She couldn’t quite meet Eleanor’s gaze.
“Sarah,” Eleanor said, surprised. “Are you alright?”
Sarah chewed on her lip, her eyes darting around the near-empty aisle. “I… I just wanted to say hello.”
Her voice was tight, strained. She leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret, though her words were deliberately vague.
“You should really,” Sarah whispered, her eyes still fixed on a display of cereal boxes, “watch the dates on the development proposals for the Community Center. They… they sometimes change.”
Eleanor felt a jolt of recognition. “Change? How?”
Sarah straightened up, suddenly looking panicked. “And Mr. Caldwell,” she continued, her voice rising to a more normal, yet still rushed, tone, “he’s been very focused on ‘long-term asset protection’ for the charity lately. Very thorough.”
She gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod towards Eleanor, then turned sharply and walked away, leaving Eleanor standing amidst the produce with a basket full of unanswered questions. Sarah’s fear was palpable, a tangible thing that hung in the air long after she disappeared down the next aisle. Yet, beneath it, Eleanor sensed something else: a silent plea, a desperate attempt to offer a lifeline without fully exposing herself. Sarah might be afraid, but she was trying to help.
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