He nodded once, then stepped away to telephone the other trustees. Nicole watched him go with the expression she had worn when her phone vibrated earlier. Nina understood that expression now. Someone outside Nicole’s control might check the numbers.
“There’s another file in the event record,” Brandon said.
He indicated PRE-SHOW COMMS, a folder in the same event archive. Production staff recorded intercom traffic to resolve disputes about cues and restricted-room access. Brandon had preserved it with the other files, but no one had listened yet.
Nicole reached for the power cord. Brandon stopped her with a raised hand.
“If you think this is inaccurate, give your statement. Don’t touch the equipment.”
“You’re turning a family matter into a spectacle,” she said.
Nina glanced toward the guests holding up phones. “You did that when you hit me.”
The words came out quieter than she expected. Their effect on Nicole was worse than a shout.
Brandon selected the pre-show recording. At first there were only stage directions: a request for fresh water, a check on the backstage doors, someone testing a microphone. Then Nicole’s voice sounded through the tablet.
“Put Nina Donovan at the west service station. She’ll recognize the old register.”
Nina went still.
Nicole had asked for her by name before she had even reached the theater.
Another voice asked whether the station should be reassigned. Nicole replied, “No. Give her a reason to challenge me in front of the guests. Once she does, she’s out. An angry former employee isn’t a credible witness.”
Nina looked at the hand Nicole had used to strike her. What she had mistaken for a burst of temper now had the outlines of a rehearsal. Nicole had wanted a public dispute. She had counted on Nina becoming angry enough to be dismissed before anyone considered the figures.
Nina hadn’t reacted as Nicole expected. That explained her fear.
Sebastian stared at the floor.
Brandon stopped playback. “This is why we’ll preserve everything,” he said. “But Nina, you need to decide what to do with your complaint. I can’t make that choice for you.”
Nicole recovered first. “If she files anything, she’s finished in this industry.”
There it was: a promise of consequences, delivered in the same room where Nicole had claimed to be defending her family.
Nina thought of the workers whose names she had just seen. Her own shifts were seven lines among hundreds. If she walked out with nothing but a story, someone else would be asked to wait until Monday.
She asked Brandon to attach her written account to the preserved records. She signed her name and authorized the verified copies of her own schedule, the disputed acknowledgments, the programs, and the relevant event files to be forwarded to the foundation’s independent trustees and the state labor authorities. She would not post other workers’ private records online.
When she submitted the complaint, the tablet chimed once.
Nicole sacó su insignia de empleada de la parte delantera del uniforme de Nina. El alfiler rozó la tela.
“Ya no trabajas en mis eventos.”
Nina se estremeció ante el pinchazo, pero no intentó alcanzar la placa. Eran siete turnos sin paga, y ahora la promesa de todos los turnos futuros se desvanecía con un simple gesto.
Brandon añadió discretamente el despido a su informe de incidentes.
Sebastian finalmente habló. “Nicole, no puedes hacerle eso”.
“Viste cómo intentaba arruinarnos”, dijo Nicole. “¿Y te preocupa una placa?”
Abrió la boca y luego la cerró. Nina conocía ese silencio. Lo había oído cada vez que alguien de la tripulación le preguntaba cuándo llegarían los cheques.
Brandon volvió a la grabación. “Quedan unos segundos más”.
En el audio se oía la voz de Sebastián, más grave que la de Nicole, pero inconfundible.
“Mantengan a Nina alejada del registro principal. No esta noche. No hasta que hayamos terminado con las promesas de donación.”
Nina ya no podía verlo como el hombre que se había sorprendido por la bofetada. Él sabía que ella podría encontrar algo que valiera la pena ocultar.
Y él había elegido el momento en que ella podía verlo.
