“Forty-seven in total. The recipients will know who they are.”
Confused but curious, they began moving between the tables, setting cards down only where the names matched.
I picked up the first stack and handed it to the nearest waiter.
Read also
The room filled with quiet rustling as some people turned them over and others watched, uncertain whether to feel relieved or overlooked. Graham looked from one table to another.
“What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer him.
I waited. It took less than thirty seconds.
Someone at the front table frowned.
Another guest looked across at his wife.
A man near the back whispered, “Is this real?”
Graham took two quick steps toward me.
I finally looked at him. “You wanted two hundred witnesses tonight. I thought the ones you wrote about deserved the whole story. In your own words. Date stamps included.”
“Is this real?”
He reached for one of the cards before a guest could read it.
A hand caught his wrist. It was Daniel.
“No.”
Graham jerked his hand free. “Those were between us.”
“They were,” I said calmly. “Until the people you wrote about became the people sitting in this room.”
An older couple at the second table exchanged uneasy looks.
The husband cleared his throat. “This card has my name on it.”
“It should,” I replied. “Read it.”
He lowered his eyes. His lips moved silently.
Then he looked up at Graham. “I’ve known you for eighteen years.” He placed the card on the table. “I thought we were friends.”
I picked up another card.
