Simone found him at the dining room table after midnight. She had returned from a staff meeting wearing the same cream blazer she planned to wear to the gala. In her hand was a folder of seating charts. She glanced at Malik's photographs and told him he was wasting his energy. Renee had already informed senior donors that consolidation was necessary. Malik asked whether Simone believed the center was beyond repair. She said she believed her mother had seen financial statements he had not.
"Then show me the statements," he said.
Simone set down her folder. "You know I can't do that."
"You work in communications, Simone. You're going to tell the public why a place is closing. Shouldn't you know if the reasons are true?"
For a moment she looked less like Renee's composed assistant and more like the older sister who used to teach him to tie a tie before school dances. Then she said quietly, "There are things happening upstairs that I don't understand either." She refused to explain. But as she left, she put a second folder on the table. It contained an outdated organizational chart, and the name of a trustee Malik had never heard discussed at home: Gideon Price.
Gideon had been David's attorney and friend since the foundation's earliest days. Malik remembered a gray-haired man who brought chess sets to Christmas dinner and called David a stubborn optimist. After the funeral, Gideon had undergone serious surgery and moved temporarily to live with his daughter in another state. Renee said he was retired. Malik found his number in his father's old address book and called on a Friday morning, expecting a disconnected line. Instead, a deep voice answered after four rings.
Malik introduced himself, and silence followed. Then Gideon said, "Son, I have wanted to hear your voice for a long time." Malik told him about Harbor House, the proposed sale, and the maintenance requests. Gideon asked him to email everything. When Malik mentioned the foundation's anniversary program, the older man sounded surprised. He had received neither an invitation nor notice of a trustee meeting. That troubled him more than the proposed sale itself.
"There are two organizations involved," Gideon explained. "The foundation operates programs. The Turner Community Trust owns the Harbor House property. Your father made that separation deliberately so a bad fundraising year could not cost the neighborhood its home."
Malik sat perfectly still. No one had ever explained that distinction to him. Gideon said the trust required an independent review and proper trustee approval before anyone could dispose of the building. A sale would also have to respect restrictions on how the property was used. Renee could recommend changes, but she could not simply treat Harbor House as a line item in the foundation's bank account. Gideon promised to request the current filings and speak with Evelyn, who was also a trustee. He warned Malik not to accuse anyone of fraud without evidence, no matter how angry he felt.
When the call ended, Malik looked through his father's notebook from the last summer they worked together. On one page David had drawn a rough plan for an expanded art studio. Beside it he had written, in hurried pencil, "Do not let the building become more important than the children. Protect the children first." Malik realized then that preserving Harbor House would require more than preserving its walls. It would require an honest plan for keeping those walls useful.