“What did I ever do to you, Vanessa?”
“What did I ever do to you, Vanessa?”
“Three years ago, you worked a gala at the Whitmore Hotel.”
I remembered it.
The press table.
The sealed folders.
A client who’d ordered me to place one at every reporter’s seat before the speeches began.
The mistake that had turned the gala into a disaster.
The sealed folders.
Whoever assembled the press packets had included the wrong documents.
Instead of glossy information packets, those folders had contained private company files.
Those files proved the CFO had been involved in corrupt business practices.
“My father’s company collapsed after those documents became public,” she said. “Investors walked. Friends vanished. He spent months trying to clear his name.”
Her voice cracked, the triumph finally leaving her face.
“He died of a heart attack before he could.”
“Vanessa, the contents of those folders had nothing to do with me—”
