Chapter 20 - I testify for Delaney and against her
Delaney’s arbitration was private but formal.
She sat across from me.
My sister.
The woman who held Fiona’s hand at our wedding.
The woman who slept in a hospital chair after the accident because I refused to leave Willa.
The woman who later hid a medical report.
Both.
Her lawyer asked:
“Did Delaney take on significant responsibility after Fiona died?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask her to manage foundation communications?”
“Yes.”
“Family office medical administration?”
“Yes.”
“Hospital billing?”
“Yes.”
“Did she often shield you from details when you were grieving?”
“Yes.”
“Did you appreciate that?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Did you ever tell her to simplify medical information?”
I paused.
“Yes.”
Her lawyer looked at me.
“What did you say?”
“Something like, ‘Give me what I need to decide. I can’t read another fifty-page report.’”
There.
Delaney had not invented the culture of simplification alone.
Then foundation counsel.
“Did you ask Delaney to alter medically approved donor language?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her to withhold the Meridian report from the medical advisory committee?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her to ignore Willa’s request to remove her name?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize cancellation of Milo Turner’s youth panel because his recovery story conflicted with fundraising?”
“No.”
Then:
“Would you have stopped the gala campaign if you knew Willa opposed use of her name and independent physicians believed functional recovery possible?”
I thought.
“Maybe.”
That answer hurt us.
Not yes.
Why not?
Because I was still denial-bound.
I continued:
“I want to believe I would have. I cannot honestly say I know.”
Good.
Then Delaney testified.
“I made decisions Graham did not want to make.”
“Did you profit?”
“My career benefited.”
“Did you steal?”
“No.”
“Did you believe the institute would help children?”
“Yes.”
I believed her.
Then:
“Why remove the youth panel?”
“Because the fundraising narrative was fragile.”
There.
“Why not revise the narrative?”
“Because we had eighteen million dollars committed.”
Then:
“Did Willa’s medical truth become inconvenient?”
Long silence.
“Yes.”
That was the word.
Inconvenient.
Arbitrator reserved decision.
Then Willa’s rehab.
She walked twelve feet with a walker one day.
Three feet the next.
Used wheelchair at school.
No headlines.
Then she asked me:
“Can I go to the next foundation event?”
“What event?”
“The new center announcement.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
“Not because board asked?”
“No.”
I checked.
Arthur had not asked.
Then:
“What do you want to do there?”
“Sit.”
I laughed.
She smiled.
May you like
“Everyone already got my standing moment.”
Good.
