The quarterly board evaluation was a tense affair. Directors, investors, and department heads filled the opulent executive boardroom, discussing the foundation’s financial performance. Marcus, seated prominently next to Albert, monopolized the conversation, presenting glowing but vague figures.
I sat quietly, observing, the pawn receipt heavy in the secret compartment of my chess queen. Maya was due any minute, under the guise of dropping off my lunch.
Albert, usually sharp as a tack, seemed unusually quiet today. He mostly listened, his gaze sweeping over the room, pausing occasionally on Marcus.
Marcus was mid-sentence, pontificating on “future growth projections,” when Albert suddenly let out a sharp gasp.
He clutched his chest, his eyes wide. A low groan escaped his lips.
“Oh! Oh my,” he whispered, his body slumping slightly in his chair.
A stack of papers he’d been holding — financial reports, balance sheets — slipped from his grasp, fanning out across the polished mahogany table and onto the plush carpet. They scattered like autumn leaves.
Immediately, a ripple of alarm went through the room.
“Mr. Barksdale!” Karen St. Clair, the corporate secretary, was the first to react, rushing to his side.
Marcus, momentarily stunned, recovered quickly. “Father Albert! Are you alright?” he exclaimed, though his eyes darted to the scattered documents, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.
Security guards, already present, moved swiftly towards Albert. Staff members fussed around him, offering water, loosening his tie. The focus of the entire room shifted from corporate performance to the frail, elderly founder.
Amidst the commotion, a figure slipped quietly through the main double doors. It was Maya, her backpack slung over one shoulder, a brown paper bag in her hand. She wore an innocent, slightly bewildered expression as she took in the scene.
No one noticed her. All eyes were on Albert, who was now being gently helped to his feet by two burly security guards, still muttering faintly about being “a bit dizzy.”
Maya, rather than heading for me, subtly veered towards Marcus’s open office door, which was visible from where she stood. Marcus had left it slightly ajar in his haste to attend the meeting.
I held my breath, my heart pounding a rhythm against my ribs. Her steps were light, almost soundless.
She glanced over her shoulder, confirming no one was looking, then slid inside Marcus’s office.
A few agonizing moments later, she re-emerged, her face carefully neutral. She walked directly to me, holding out the lunch bag.
“Hey, Mom,” she whispered, her eyes bright with a spark of triumph I instantly recognized. “Forgot your sandwich.”
I took the bag, my fingers brushing against hers. Her palm was slightly sweaty. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
She had done it.
She had copied key financial ledgers from Marcus’s encrypted hard drive. The full extent of what she had found, I still didn’t know.
Albert, meanwhile, was slowly being escorted out of the room, still leaning heavily on the security guards. He caught my eye, and a faint, knowing wink touched his face, almost imperceptible to anyone else.
It wasn’t a dizzy spell. It was a perfectly staged distraction.
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