“I don’t have time for drafts,” Lila said, her voice rising in panic. “The press is outside. Grant’s lawyers are already trying to make me the scapegoat.”

She looked at me, her eyes desperate.

“You know what he’s like, Vivian,” she said. “He’ll put it all on me. He’ll say I was the one who authorized the luxury marketing expenses from the non-profit reserve.”

I looked past her, toward the corner of the VIP lounge.

A black tripod stood there, holding a high-definition auxiliary camera that the hotel’s tech crew had set up earlier.

A thick blue cable ran from the back of the camera, snaking under the door toward the main AV booth.

Above the lens, a small amber standby light was pulsing slowly.

The technical team had set up this room for the overflow broadcast, keeping a feed active in case the main ballroom presentation required a secondary angle.

I looked back at Lila, whose hand was still extended, offering the drive.

“Grant didn’t just misuse the funds, Lila,” I said, my voice steady. “He systematically erased my name from every deed.”