Daniel watched Lena lower the telephone. "No one picked up?"
"Not the executive line. I can try the operations number."
He shook his head. "We'll be there soon enough. It's probably a busy night." He said it more to reassure himself than because he was confident. He had purchased a hotel whose employees were supposedly preparing to welcome him, and he was already finding that a simple call could not reach the desk.
In the lobby, Graham decided that Claire's continuing presence was attracting too much attention. Two guests had asked the concierge whether someone needed assistance, and a waiter had stopped to collect a glass of water for her without receiving permission. Graham interpreted all three gestures as evidence that his authority was weakening. He crossed toward the bench and stood over the cardboard bundle in Claire's lap.
"You keep claiming a connection to Mr. Whitmore," he said. "Show me one thing that says you belong. A confirmation number, a real invitation, something verifiable."
"I've offered to call him," Claire replied. "I've asked you to check the note. You refused both."
"Those are excuses."
"Those are solutions."
She opened the canvas bag enough to take out the ribbon-tied stack. She had considered leaving it untouched, but it included an invitation card from the Windowlight Project and a handwritten note about the hotel reception. Daniel's company had contributed to the program, and there was a reasonable chance the manager would recognize the organization if he stopped long enough to look. Claire handed him the printed card, keeping the pictures carefully supported in her other hand.
Graham glanced at the logo and scoffed. "Your proof? Crayons?"
"The card names tonight's reception. Those pictures were made by children receiving care at a hospital. They're supposed to be part of the presentation."
He lifted one corner of the stack without asking. Jonah's green dragon showed beneath the ribbon, its baseball cap slightly crooked and its tail drawn all the way to the margin. Graham stared at it as though Claire had offered him a school assignment he had no intention of completing. "That's garbage," he said, and dropped the corner of the papers so abruptly that the ribbon slipped loose.
A sheet of construction paper slid onto the marble. Claire crouched immediately to retrieve it, but Graham's shoe moved across its edge first. He did not step down hard enough to tear it, yet the sole left a faint gray mark along the purple sky. Claire caught her breath more sharply than she had when he touched her ring.
"Those were made by sick children," she said. "Be careful, Mr. Vance."
"Or what?" he demanded. "Are the children going to complain to the board?"