Page 147 of Ricardo

I spent years speaking it while pretending it did not bore holes through my skull.

Now, for the first time, it feels useful.

“Harriet Bloom cannot sit with Sybil Crane,” I say ten minutes later.

Patrice looks up from the seating chart. “Why?”

“Harriet’s son left Sybil’s niece six weeks before their wedding.”

Owen winces. “Oof. How long ago?”

“Three years ago.”

“That is recent in that world,” Lorenzo says.

I nod. “Exactly.”

Mario glances at me. “Where should Harriet sit?”

“With the hospital people. She likes feeling benevolent.”

“And Sybil?” Lorenzo asks.

“Arts council. She likes feeling superior.”

This time, Patrice laughs before she catches herself.

Even Mario gives me a faint look of approval before turning back to the list.

I feel something warm in my chest.

I am good at this.

I am damn good at this, and no one in this room gave it to me as charity. I know how these people think. I know who needs to feel courted, who needs to feel feared, who needs to feel above the room, and who needs to believe their presence alone warrants honor. I know which names carry money, which carry access, which carry reputation, and which carry a kind of rot that spreads to whatever it touches.

The rest of the meeting is relatively uneventful. We don't quite complete the agenda on the gala, but we make a big dent in it. Enough to be satisfied in our progress.

At the end of the meeting, Owen gathers the guest packets and Patrice closes her laptop.

“We’ll revise the table groupings and send an updated draft by 3:00,” Patrice says.

“Send it to Julia first,” Mario says.

I look up.

Patrice’s eyes flick to me, then back to him. “Of course.”

Owen nods, though I can tell he does not love the instruction. “We’ll route through Miss O’Brien.”

“Good,” Mario says.

Chairs scrape back. Folders close. Patrice asks Owen a question about sponsor signage as they stand. Lorenzo lingers long enough to slide his marked spreadsheet into his folder.

Once Patrice and Owen leave, Lorenzo remains near the door.

Mario looks at him.

Lorenzo looks back.