The audience went quiet, apart from a near-silent “Suh-nap!” from Jules. I kept my eyes on Nora, watching as her face locked solid and a thought-bubble appeared above her head: “RUBY KNOWS.”

Then I turned away, heart pounding so hard I swore it was going to knock me over. Amid the dizzying crowd, I saw Simon Wilkerson leaning forward. I trained my eyes on him, refilling my tank of courage.

“As soon as I’ve seen paperwork establishing the fund, along with the rest of this year’s financials, I’ll be glad to carry out my pledge. In the meantime, I’ve donated an additional ten thousand dollars to the Sphinx Organization, which works to develop the talents of young black and Latino classical musicians.”

I was met with confused applause. This would be over soon.

“And tonight, I also bring Amberley one more donation . . .” I reached into my bag, brandishing a printout from an online gift confirmation. “From the parents of Oscar Bell, in the amount of twelve thousand dollars.”

Now the applause was even more scattered, low conversation rumbling underneath. Somehow, nobody had realized he even had parents, let alone ones with means. Amberley’s PR campaign had been remarkably effective.

I turned back to Nora, so she could see the page too.

“Should be enough to cover Oscar Bell’s tuition. Plus a little extra. For emergencies.”

I’d decided emergencies was subtler than, say, the lawsuit that’s about to hit your desk. Amberley would hear from the Bell family’s attorney soon enough. And judging by Nora’s wild laugh, she already knew exactly what I meant.

She clapped her hands. “Thank you very much. The next generation, ladies and gentlemen!”

Her face started to crumple, that shield of a society smile finally failing her, and for a moment I felt sharp regret that I was the cause of it. But she hurried off the stage before her composure deserted her completely, and I remembered the way she’d run yesterday too, right after Dad’s heart attack.

To the far left of the front row, I saw a man slowly, robotically open a fire exit door and glide through it. Bill Rustig.

If somebody told me tomorrow that he’d been spotted fleeing with Nora to the Bahamas, I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Despite it all, I clung to that image—Nora and Bill, in some dingy tropical bar, in permanent exile—instead of her being led away in handcuffs. But why? Shouldn’t she face justice? People like her were born with a heaping stack of free passes. This should be the moment those passes ran out.

Still . . . I couldn’t pinpoint how I felt. Criminal or no, caring, phony, she was someone I’d known all my life. Someone who’d at least been present, holding my hand when others didn’t. Some part of me would always care what happened to her.