Denise was looking between them now, and Leah could see the sequence of calculations moving across her mother’s face. Denise feared conflict the way other people feared poverty — as an existential threat to the version of her life she had chosen. She would forgive almost anything before she tolerated a scene. She would allow almost any cruelty before she permitted embarrassment.
“Leah,” Denise said quietly, “you are making this worse.”
Leah looked at her mother. “Worse for who?”
Nobody answered.
Raymond grabbed his napkin and threw it on the table. “This is absurd. I don’t need to explain corporate matters to a child.”
“I’m not asking you to explain anything,” Leah said. “I’m pointing out that a man with serious professional exposure in his immediate future probably shouldn’t spend the evening mocking someone whose entire career is built on identifying exactly that kind of risk.”
Something moved across Raymond’s face that she recognized. Not anger, though the anger was there. Fear. The specific fear that appears in people when arrogance finally meets a consequence they cannot dismiss or charm away.