Betacamera: Insurance and more

PART 2:  Sabrina stood frozen in the center of La Couronne Patisserie, her perfectly polished heels suddenly feeling like blocks of lead against the white marble tile. Victoria did not look at her. Not yet. Victoria was carefully brushing flour off the shoulder of Arthur Sterling's stained chef's whites, the way a granddaughter brushes flour off a grandfather she loves, with the kind of tenderness that made the entire patisserie understand — slowly, terribly — exactly what had just happened. Behind the counter, the staff stood paralyzed. Six pastry chefs in white toques. Two cashiers. One young woman in a pale pink apron, holding a tray of unfinished éclairs that had begun to tremble in her hands. Her name was Élise. She was twenty-four years old. And she was the only person in that entire patisserie who had not laughed when Sabrina had begun her cruel performance forty-five minutes earlier. Arthur Sterling noticed that. He had noticed it the entire time. — Sabrina finally foun...

PART 2: The marble floor was cold under my mother's knees. She was sixty-three years old, and she was kneeling in front of a man who had been alive for thirty-one of her sixty-three years, and she was picking up a plastic badge with her shaking hand because he had thrown it there. I stood behind a pillar near the elevator bank, and I did not move. I had been there for forty seconds. I had walked into the lobby of the Bellington Grand thirty seconds after Travis began his speech. I had heard the words twenty-two years . I had heard the words people like you . I had watched the badge hit the marble. And I had not moved. Because what I did next was not going to be a daughter defending her mother. What I did next was going to be a board member protecting an asset. And the difference between those two things was going to be the difference between giving Travis Bellington a bad afternoon and ending his career. I chose the second one. I lifted my phone to my ear. The call was already dia...