CHAPTER 1: The Chair No One Wanted

The dinner at Whitcomb House was arranged to look effortless, which meant an army of people had suffered quietly for two days to make it appear that way.
Crystal chandeliers burned over the long dining room. Silver candlesticks divided the polished mahogany table into islands of wealth. Donors laughed softly near the windows while waiters moved between them like shadows trained not to exist.
Eleanor Whitcomb stood at the entrance in a pale blue dress, one hand resting on the back of a chair no one had meant for her to notice.
Her name card was not near the head of the table. It was not beside the foundation trustees. It was not even among the family seats beneath the portrait of her late husband.
It sat at the far end, beside the swinging kitchen door, where steam touched the wallpaper and conversations arrived already tired.
Across the room, Vanessa Whitcomb watched Eleanor find it. Her smile was small, perfect, and public.