Augustus Campbell, the chairman of the board.
Then the head of internal audit. She did not contact Donovan. She did not contact any of the board members known to be close to Donovan. Wednesday through Friday, she worked privately with Henry Park and Augustus Campbell.
A forensic accountant was flown in from Atlanta under a confidentiality agreement.
By Friday afternoon, the preliminary report matched Porter's calculations at 94%. The threshold for suspension and investigation had been cleared. Friday night, Porter read to Hazel until she fell asleep, the final chapter of The Little Prince. After she was breathing slow under her dolphin, he stood at her window and looked at the trees on Tradd Street.
And for the first time, he said something in his own head to Annelise that was not a question or an apology.
"I think you would have liked her, Anna." It was not a request for permission. It was an introduction.
Monday morning, 9:00, the board room of Halstead Coastal Hospitality. Nine board members were present. Donovan came in exactly on time, which was usual for him. When he stepped through the door, he saw Porter sitting at the far end of the table in the same white shirt with the navy collar he had worn at the Cypress Room.
He saw Vera standing beside the projector.
He saw Henry Park seated to Marlowe's right. And he saw a man in a gray suit he did not recognize, the forensic accountant from Atlanta. Marlowe presented for 24 minutes, the technical numbers from Porter, the Harbor Line LLC history compiled by Vera, the preliminary forensic findings. Each claim with a citation.
She did not cry.
She did not raise her voice. She presented the way her father had taught her to present the year before he died, with facts in order, slowly. She had practiced the opening sentence in her bathroom mirror twice that morning. After the second time, she had stopped practicing and started simply waiting for 9:00.
Donovan did not panic.
That was the dangerous thing about him. He had spent eight years cultivating composure under pressure and he produced it now. He let her finish. He took a slow sip of water.
He set the glass down with deliberate care as though the glass were the thing that mattered in the room.
"Marlowe, this man, do you know who he actually is? Porter Wycliffe, former senior architect, Whitcomb and Stowe, Boston. Left the profession six years ago. He was placed here by a competitor. This is not an investigation. It is a coordinated attack."
Donovan had run a background check on Porter the morning after the wall vote was overruled. He had been holding the result as ammunition. The room went quiet.
Augustus Campbell was 74 years old.
He sat at the head of the table where Rutledge Halstead had once sat. He spoke slowly.
"Donovan, I know Porter Wycliffe. I sat on the jury of the AIA Boston chapter in 2018 when the Whitcomb and Stowe Tower was nominated for the Honor Award. I know why he left the profession. His wife died of cancer and he chose to raise his daughter. There was no scandal."
"You, on the other hand, have just admitted to running a background check on a consultant to this company without going through human resources. That is a violation of company policy." Donovan was silent for the first time that morning.