Chapter 9

"It is a business, Walter. A very respectable business."Bradley laughed too loudly. Hartwell did not look at him.Across the ballroom, near the entrance, six children stood in a small group. Sister Margaret was straightening Harper's collar. Harper was holding her own elbow with her opposite hand, the way fifteen-year-old girls do when they are trying not to look as nervous as they are.Hartwell glanced over. His eyes found Harper. He held the look for exactly one second. Then he turned back to his table."Bradley.""Sir?""Make a note. After the gala, I want a conversation with Catherine about how the youth program is administered going forward.""Yes, sir.""Catherine has opinions. That is fine. Opinions are not the same as authority.""Yes, sir."The chandeliers above the room held 12,000 crystals. They had been hand-polished that morning by a crew of fourteen, none of whom had been introduced to any of the guests, none of whom would be eating dinner in that ballroom that night.Charles Hartwell had built his life on a single unspoken principle: there were people who belonged in rooms like this, and there were people who did not. In four hours, a fifteen-year-old girl was going to walk up to his table and ask him for something. And he was going to teach her, in front of three hundred people, which side of that line he believed she stood on.He just didn't know yet that she had come to teach him something back.Dinner ended at 9:15. Catherine Wilson took the microphone and tapped it twice."Friends, before dessert, a small departure from tradition. Six young people from our youth sponsorship program have joined us in person tonight. I'd like to introduce them."The room turned. The six children stood. Catherine read their names. Harper Langston was the fifth.

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