Not the same gala.
Not the same woman.
The old charity event had been reborn as the Vance Community Foundation Inaugural Benefit, with independent oversight, transparent funding, and scholarship recipients seated at the best tables instead of hidden near the back.
Clarissa looked down at her dress.
It was navy-blue.
Not worn. Not faded.
A new gown, designed in honor of the one Julian had mocked.
Mrs. Martha stood nearby, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
“You look beautiful, ma’am.”
Clarissa smiled. “You said that about the old dress too.”
“Because it was true then as well.”
Clarissa hugged her.
Across the hall, Julian Cross entered quietly.
No cameras followed him.
He had been allowed to attend for one reason: he had agreed to testify against Victor and cooperate fully in the recovery of misused funds. He now worked as a consultant for a small logistics firm in another state, far from boardrooms that applauded too easily.
