Three Months Later
The boardroom of the Morell Foundation was glass, steel, and silence.
Twelve lawyers in expensive suits sat around the table, staring at me. They looked nervous. They should be.
I sat at the head of the table. My black blazer was unbuttoned, revealing the slight, unmistakable swell of my stomach beneath my silk blouse.
"So," the lead attorney, Mr. Henderson, cleared his throat. "To summarize, Ms. Vance... you wish to liquidate the offshore holdings in the Cayman Islands, sell the governor's mansion, and redirect the funds into... an orphanage?"
"Not an orphanage," I corrected, resting my hand on a stack of files. "A scholarship fund. Specifically for children in the foster system who have 'fallen through the cracks.' I want a facility that provides housing, education, and therapy. No cages. No experiments. Just care."
