I look at the empty chair. I look at the chocolate cake.
The audit is complete. The Foundation is cracking. And for the first time, I think the cracks might be exactly what we need to let the light in.
"Pierre," I say. "We'll take the biggest one you have."
Pierre nods, looking relieved to be dealing with the chocolate faction. "I will draw up the contract. Excuse me."
He vanishes into the back room, leaving us alone with the remains of the "Inferno" cake.
"Okay," Jax says, putting down his fork and looking between me and Preston. "The cake is great. The Helmut story was... anatomically confusing. But can someone please tell me what the hell is going on with the 'M. Santos' thing? You guys exchanged a look when Catherine mentioned Costa Rica. It was a very specific, 'we found a body'kind of look."
I glance at Preston. He nods.
"As some of you may already know, at 03:00," I explain, keeping my voice low, "Preston and I conducted a forensic audit of the York Foundation’s archival ledger."
"Because of course you did," Jax sighs. "Normal people sleep. You guys audit."
"We found an anomaly," I continue. "A recurring monthly payment of five thousand dollars to an entity listed as 'M. Santos' in San José, Costa Rica. It’s categorized under 'Horticultural Research', but the frequency and the amount suggest a secondary agenda."
"Five grand a month?" Jax whistles. "That’s a lot of fertilizer. Or..."
"Or hush money," Preston supplies. "Or child support. Or, given what we just learned about 'Helmut', a retainer for a very exclusive leather sculptor."
"We believe it is leverage," I conclude. "If Alistair is hiding assets—or a second family—in Costa Rica, it explains why he is so desperate to separate himself from Mother. And if we can prove it, we can use it to force his vote in our favour when it comes to wedding matters."
"So we’re hunting a ghost in the jungle," Jax says. "Great. Just what this wedding needed. International espionage."
"Amateurs."
The word cuts through our conspiracy huddle like a scalpel.
We all turn to look at Rosa.
She is calmly wiping chocolate off her lip with a napkin. She reaches into her oversized tote bag and pulls out an object that makes the entire table flinch simultaneously.
It is The Binder.
It is a thick, battered, black leather binder that has held the fate of St. Jude’s Hospital for thirty years. Every resident knows the sound of its spine cracking. Every attending fears the day their name appears on its pages. It is not a myth. It is a weapon of mass administration.
"Oh god," Luke whispers, physically recoiling. "Not the Black Binder. Mom, put it away. It’s staring at me."
"I have PTSD from that sound," Jax mutters, rubbing his arm. "She used that binder to deny my vacation request in 2018. I still have the rejection slip. It was typed in red ink."
"It wasn't red ink," Rosa corrects him, patting the cover affectionately. "It was the blood of innocent children. Metaphorically."
She opens the binder. Thesnapof the rings echoes in the silent room. She flips through pages of handwritten notes, receipts, and polaroids, her eyes scanning the data with terrifying speed.
"You boys think you were the first ones to discover Costa Rica?" Rosa scoffs, not looking up. "I have been tracking Alistair’s 'Horticultural Research' since 2015. Do you think I let a Foundation cheque clear without knowing where it goes? Gladys in Accounting knows to run anything related to Alistair by me. I run a tight ship, Maxwell. I might not have the hospital administrator title, but administration knows who they report to. Even your father doesn't pee without me knowing the colour."
"You have the M. Santos file?" Preston asks, leaning forward, his hunter’s instinct warring with his fear of the binder. "Tell us. Is it a mistress? A child? A cartel?"
Rosa stops on a page. She taps a specific receipt. She smiles—a slow, secret smile that tells us absolutely nothing and everything at the same time.
"I know exactly who M. Santos is," Rosa says. "And I know exactly what your father is doing in Costa Rica.”
"Tell us, please!" Jax begs. "Is he a drug lord? Is he a spy? Is he secretly Batman?"
Rosa looks at Jax. She looks at me. She looks at the desperate curiosity on Preston’s face.
