More murmurs.
Caleb’s jaw tightens.
“You said you were helping,” he says.
“I was,” you reply. “That was my mistake.”
Mara turns toward the exit.
Evelyn sees her.
“Ms. Lane,” she says sharply. “I suggest you stay.”
Mara freezes.
Adrian looks at Caleb now with the calm focus of a man watching rot appear beneath polished paint.
“You were being considered for regional director,” Adrian says. “Were these reports part of your submitted performance file?”
Caleb’s face changes.
Everyone sees it.
The panic is small, but unmistakable.
You answer before he can. “Yes.”
Caleb snaps, “Vivian!”
You do not flinch.
Adrian looks at you. “You worked on them?”
You nod. “I prepared the underlying analysis. Caleb presented it.”
“Were you compensated?”
Caleb laughs bitterly. “She’s my wife.”
Adrian’s eyes harden. “That was not the question.”
You look down at your handmade navy dress, the one Caleb called embarrassing. You think of the long nights sewing it after work because you could not justify buying something expensive while Caleb drained accounts for appearances. You think of all the unpaid labor, the invisible corrections, the quiet rescues.
“No,” you say. “I was not compensated.”
Caleb looks around the room for allies.
