CHAPTER 04
Breakfast Without Cameras
Beatrice chose a bakery beside the tram depot. It had steamed windows, mismatched cups, and no private dining room. Mara arrived ten minutes early and found her already there, reading a printed report with a pencil in her hand.
Without the dinner jacket, she looked older and less protected. She stood when Mara approached.
“Thank you for coming.”
“I haven't agreed to work for anyone.”
“I haven't offered.”
That helped.
They bought their own breakfasts. Mara ordered eggs because she had forgotten dinner. Beatrice ordered toast and did not touch it until Mara sat down.
“The phrase was about field configuration,” she said. “Did Mr. Zhou mean the devices were incorrectly installed, or that they were different devices?”
“Different specifications. An independent interpreter should confirm the exact wording.”
“Celia has arranged one.”
“Then why ask me?”
Mara remembered seeing Beatrice at other events, always standing slightly behind Gideon's shoulder, always holding the folder he would need next. She had assumed such people shared the confidence of the men they assisted. Now Beatrice was picking a loose thread from her sleeve, stopping only when she noticed Mara watching. The gesture did not make her innocent. It did make her more difficult to dismiss as an extension of somebody else. Mara moved the sugar bowl aside so the report could lie flat between them.
Beatrice placed the report between them. It was a procurement summary bearing her signature. Every page listed the more expensive sensor model.
“Because I approved payment.”
Mara read the top sheet without taking it away. There were thirty six devices, six relays, installation labor, and a service agreement. The total was larger than any number she had ever been responsible for earning.
“Did you see what arrived?”
“No. Adrian supplied the delivery confirmation.”
“And you work for Gideon.”
“For eighteen years.”
“That's a long time to need a waitress to explain your paperwork.”
Beatrice accepted that without blinking. “Yes.”
Outside, a tram driver shook rain from his cap. The ordinary movement made the conversation seem briefly unreal.
Beatrice said she had helped build Vale Civic Development from a regional property business into the city's preferred partner for public projects. She believed in the river scheme. Her father had worked in the docks; her sister still lived near the water. She had been proud of the installation photographs.
“Pride can make an invoice look like evidence,” she said.
Mara pushed the report back.
“I can't investigate this for you.”
“I intend to give it to the committee. I wanted to know whether I was reading the discrepancy correctly before I accused my own staff.”
“Give them the discrepancy. Let them investigate.”
Beatrice's mouth moved almost into a smile. “You seem accustomed to choosing your words.”
“My mother used to interpret at the housing clinic. People lost benefits over words that sounded close enough.”
“Used to?”
“She was dismissed after a contractor complained she was making appointments difficult.”
Mara had not intended to say that. Her mother's case was old, small, and painful in ways that did not belong at this table. She reached for her cup.
Beatrice did not ask for more.
Instead, she took a sealed envelope from her bag.
“The bank confirmed sufficient funds this morning. Gideon asked me to convey that the check will be honored.”
“Why would that require an envelope?”
“It doesn't. This contains a proposed publicity agreement. I am required to offer it. You are under no obligation to sign.”
Mara read the first paragraph. Exclusive interview. Goodwill partnership. Permission to use her image. A sentence described the dinner as a celebratory language challenge.
She closed it.
“No.”
“I thought so.”
“Did he send the message last night?”
Beatrice's expression sharpened. Mara showed her the screenshot, keeping the phone in her own hand.
“I don't know,” Beatrice said. “Send it to the committee investigator. I'll preserve our communications.”
It was a careful answer. Mara appreciated it more than a denial.
She had expected breakfast to simplify the problem. Instead, it had given the problem names, signatures, and dates.
At the bank, a teller examined the check, called a supervisor, and explained the hold period. Mara asked when she could safely use the funds. The supervisor answered without recognizing her from the video, which felt like an unexpected kindness.
She deposited it.
For twelve minutes afterward, she walked without choosing a direction. Money had become possible, but not yet available. Her debt still existed. Her mother still needed the lift. The river still moved toward the sea. She had imagined that receiving a hundred thousand dollars would feel like a door opening. Instead, it felt like carrying a glass filled too close to the rim.
Her manager called at eleven.
“We need to discuss last night before your next shift.”
“I'm scheduled at four.”
“Come at three.”
She stopped outside a hardware shop. In the window, a yellow pump stood beside a coil of hose. The price tag was handwritten.
“Am I being disciplined?”
“We'll discuss it in person.”
At home, Ruth was watching a panel debate about her daughter. One guest praised Mara's dignity. Another asked whether the incident proved employers were overlooking untapped talent. Nobody discussed the uncertified equipment.
Ruth switched it off.
“You don't have to become their example,” she said.
Mara put the publicity envelope in a drawer. “I might be about to become unemployed.”
Her mother looked at her for a long moment, then reached for the shopping list.
“Then we should buy the cheaper tea.”
It was such a practical response that Mara almost cried.
Before leaving for the hotel, she called Celia's office. A staff member confirmed that the committee would review the installation the following morning. Mara offered her notes and the recording timestamps she remembered. She did not offer expertise she had not finished earning.
When she hung up, another message arrived, this time from Adrian Cole.
Please don't let them make you think I ordered those boxes. I need to tell somebody what happened.