"Your father gave you everything," she said, louder now. "And all you've done since he died is stand in the way of people trying to keep his work alive."
Simone moved closer to Malik. Renee ignored her. She added that the evening was for people who had made sacrifices for the foundation, not those who wished to inherit a place at its table. The words cut deeper than Malik expected. His father had taught him to repair broken chairs so there would always be enough places at the table. Renee was telling a room full of strangers that the chair belonging to his own son had been removed.
"I don't want a title," Malik said. "I want you to tell me why you're selling Harbor House without the people responsible for it."
Renee's face flushed. "If you cannot respect this family, you can leave."
He might have done exactly that if the ballroom doors had not opened behind the photographer. An older Black man with silver hair and a neatly trimmed gray beard entered at a measured pace. His light-gray suit was immaculate, his tie deep blue, and in his left hand he held a worn brown leather portfolio. He looked first at Malik, then at the enormous portrait of David above the stage. His expression changed in a way Malik recognized from years ago: grief, held quietly behind work that still had to be done.
"Good evening, Renee," Gideon Price said.
For a moment Renee appeared unable to place him. Then she stiffened. "Gideon. We weren't expecting you."
"I know," he answered. "That is part of the problem."
The guests nearest them became quiet. Gideon approached Malik, shook his hand, and told him he had reviewed the records. Then he turned to Renee. He did not raise his voice. He asked whether she intended to announce a binding agreement for the Harbor House property that evening. She said she was announcing a partnership, not conducting a legal hearing. Gideon asked again. Finally Renee admitted that the developer expected a signed agreement after the program.
Gideon unfastened the portfolio. Inside were documents separated by colored tabs: the original trust deed, a current property record, meeting minutes, and a letter from an independent engineer. He opened the first document on the nearby table so that Renee could see the signature of David Turner. He explained that Harbor House belonged to a separate charitable trust. Two trustees listed as approving the proposed sale had never attended the meeting recorded in the paperwork. One of them, Evelyn Brooks, had confirmed in writing that she neither signed the resolution nor consented to the transfer.
Renee glanced around at the listening guests. "You can't prove that here."
"I'm not asking this room to decide who signed the document," Gideon replied. "That's a matter for the appropriate authorities. But I can tell you what a court has already ordered while those facts are reviewed."
He removed a certified copy of a temporary order issued earlier that afternoon. After an emergency application by the independent trustees, the court had prohibited any transfer or encumbrance of the Harbor House property until a hearing. It was a limited measure, not a ruling about guilt. Gideon carefully explained that distinction. He then set down a formal notice addressed to the foundation and its officers. The property could not be sold that night, regardless of what had been promised to Crestline Partners.