“Of course, of course,” my dad stammered, his smile faltering. “Is something wrong?”
Keller held up the envelope.
I saw the color drain from my father’s face. It happened instantly—a total evacuation of blood from his skin, leaving him gray and waxen.
My mother leaned in, her pearls trembling against her throat. She recognized the logo on the bank statements peeking out of the envelope.
“This is a misunderstanding,” she whispered, her voice pitching up.
“There is no misunderstanding,” Keller said, loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear. “Embezzling from the Greenleaf Fund? Constructive fraud? We have bylaws, Tom. And we have standards. You are removed from the consideration list, effective immediately. And I suggest you leave before I call the authorities to escort you out.”
The silence that fell over the room was absolute. A fork clinked against a plate, sounding like a gunshot.
People stepped back. Literally stepped back. It was as if my parents had suddenly become radioactive. The woman my mother had been chatting with moments ago turned her back and walked away.
