Another had video from the cafeteria hallway showing Ryan stepping into Nia's path before Jake's edited clip began. A catering worker from the donor reception submitted a statement describing the public accusation over their volunteer credentials. Silence had protected Ryan when each person thought they were alone. Now their separate pieces were beginning to connect. By late afternoon, President David Mercer, 59, called an emergency meeting.
He looked older than he had beneath the reception lights. We are opening an independent investigation. Charles Whitmore sat at the far end of the table. His expression was controlled. Ryan was not present.
Rebecca placed the complaint records in front of Mercer. This needs to include donor influence on student conduct. Charles leaned forward. That phrasing is inflammatory. Rebecca looked at him.
So is manufacturing complaints against students. Charles's face hardened. You have no proof I authorized that. Then the investigation should help you. The room went silent.
Naomi watched him. For the first time, Charles Whitmore looked like a man who could not solve the room by writing a check. Mercer rubbed one hand across his forehead. What do you need? Rebecca glanced toward Naomi.
The battered navy gym bag rested against her chair. The bronze heron caught the light. Rebecca stared at it. Naomi noticed. So did Walter.
Rebecca turned to him. You recognize that? Walter nodded. Open door. Rebecca's expression changed slowly like something forgotten had just come back into focus.
She looked at President Mercer. Does Riverton still have the old community athletics archive? Mercer frowned. Some of it. Where?
In storage beneath the new center, I think. Walter said, "There's an old records room behind the renovated basement gym." Rebecca stood. Charles looked at her. What does that have to do with this?
Rebecca ignored him. Her eyes stayed on the bronze heron. Then she looked at Naomi. What was your father's full name? Naomi answered quietly.
Marcus Carter. Rebecca stopped breathing for half a second. Walter saw it. So did Naomi. Rebecca turned toward Mercer.
Unlock that room. Mercer stared at her. Why? Rebecca looked again at the little bronze bird. Because if I remember what I think I remember, the question here is no longer whether Naomi and Nia Carter belong at Riverton.
She picked up the folder. It's whether Riverton remembers who helped keep its doors open in the first place. The basement beneath Riverton Athletic Center smelled nothing like the donor hall above it. No flowers, no polished stone, no soft music, only concrete, old dust, and the faint metallic scent of pipes running behind painted walls. Walter led the way down a narrow stairwell with Naomi, Nia, Rebecca Grant, and President David Mercer behind him.
Charles Whitmore came, too. He had insisted. Denise stayed close to her daughters. At the bottom of the stairs, Walter stopped in front of a section of wall partly hidden behind stacked folding tables. There, Mercer frowned.
That's a wall now. Now it is. Walter moved one table aside. Behind it was an old steel door that had been covered during renovation with a thin decorative panel. A maintenance key opened it.