Chapter 7 The Sugar War #2
"Eat up, buttercup," Rosa says, patting Luke's hand. "We have a wedding to plan. And I have a feeling we’re going to need all the sugar we can get."
I look at the empty chair. I look at the chocolate cake.
The audit is complete. The Foundation is cracking. And for the first time, I think the cracks might be exactly what we need to let the light in.
"Pierre," I say. "We'll take the biggest one you have."
Pierre nods, looking relieved to be dealing with the chocolate faction. "I will draw up the contract. Excuse me."
He vanishes into the back room, leaving us alone with the remains of the "Inferno" cake.
"Okay," Jax says, putting down his fork and looking between me and Preston.
"The cake is great. The Helmut story was.
.. anatomically confusing. But can someone please tell me what the hell is going on with the 'M.
Santos' thing? You guys exchanged a look when Catherine mentioned Costa Rica.
It was a very specific, 'we found a body' kind of look. "
I glance at Preston. He nods.
"As some of you may already know, at 03:00," I explain, keeping my voice low, "Preston and I conducted a forensic audit of the York Foundation’s archival ledger."
"Because of course you did," Jax sighs. "Normal people sleep. You guys audit."
"We found an anomaly," I continue. "A recurring monthly payment of five thousand dollars to an entity listed as 'M. Santos' in San José, Costa Rica. It’s categorized under 'Horticultural Research', but the frequency and the amount suggest a secondary agenda."
"Five grand a month?" Jax whistles. "That’s a lot of fertilizer. Or..."
"Or hush money," Preston supplies. "Or child support. Or, given what we just learned about 'Helmut', a retainer for a very exclusive leather sculptor."
"We believe it is leverage," I conclude. "If Alistair is hiding assets—or a second family—in Costa Rica, it explains why he is so desperate to separate himself from Mother. And if we can prove it, we can use it to force his vote in our favour when it comes to wedding matters."
"So we’re hunting a ghost in the jungle," Jax says. "Great. Just what this wedding needed. International espionage."
"Amateurs."
The word cuts through our conspiracy huddle like a scalpel.
We all turn to look at Rosa.
She is calmly wiping chocolate off her lip with a napkin. She reaches into her oversized tote bag and pulls out an object that makes the entire table flinch simultaneously.
It is The Binder.
It is a thick, battered, black leather binder that has held the fate of St. Jude’s Hospital for thirty years. Every resident knows the sound of its spine cracking. Every attending fears the day their name appears on its pages. It is not a myth. It is a weapon of mass administration.
"Oh god," Luke whispers, physically recoiling. "Not the Black Binder. Mom, put it away. It’s staring at me."
"I have PTSD from that sound," Jax mutters, rubbing his arm. "She used that binder to deny my vacation request in 2018. I still have the rejection slip. It was typed in red ink."
"It wasn't red ink," Rosa corrects him, patting the cover affectionately. "It was the blood of innocent children. Metaphorically."
She opens the binder. The snap of the rings echoes in the silent room. She flips through pages of handwritten notes, receipts, and polaroids, her eyes scanning the data with terrifying speed.
"You boys think you were the first ones to discover Costa Rica?
" Rosa scoffs, not looking up. "I have been tracking Alistair’s 'Horticultural Research' since 2015.
Do you think I let a Foundation cheque clear without knowing where it goes?
Gladys in Accounting knows to run anything related to Alistair by me.
I run a tight ship, Maxwell. I might not have the hospital administrator title, but administration knows who they report to.
Even your father doesn't pee without me knowing the colour. "
"You have the M. Santos file?" Preston asks, leaning forward, his hunter’s instinct warring with his fear of the binder. "Tell us. Is it a mistress? A child? A cartel?"
Rosa stops on a page. She taps a specific receipt. She smiles—a slow, secret smile that tells us absolutely nothing and everything at the same time.
"I know exactly who M. Santos is," Rosa says. "And I know exactly what your father is doing in Costa Rica.”
"Tell us, please!" Jax begs. "Is he a drug lord? Is he a spy? Is he secretly Batman?"
Rosa looks at Jax. She looks at me. She looks at the desperate curiosity on Preston’s face.
Then, with a definitive thud, she slams the binder shut.
"No," Rosa says.
"No?" I repeat, my brain stalling. "Rosa, we need that leverage. Mother is going to crush us on the music playlist. If we have Alistair, we have a majority vote."
"You don't need Alistair," Rosa says, sliding the binder back into her bag, just out of reach. "You have me. And frankly? I like Alistair. He wears parrots. He eats chocolate. He tips the nurses well at Christmas."
Her expression hardens as she looks at the door where Mother exited.
"Catherine, on the other hand... Catherine tried to serve me foam. Catherine upset a bride in an airport. Catherine needs to suffer."
She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"If I tell you what Alistair is doing, you will use it to neutralize him.
You will make him boring again. I don't want him boring.
I want him chaotic. His chaos distracts Catherine.
It drives her insane. And watching Catherine York lose her mind over a parrot shirt is the only entertainment I have. "
"So you’re withholding evidence," Preston says, impressed. "To prolong the psychological torture of our mother."
"I am managing the flow of information," Rosa corrects him. "It’s triage. Alistair is stable. Catherine is the critical patient. We focus on her."
"But M. Santos..." Jax tries one last time.
"Is none of your business," Rosa says with finality. "And if you try to hack my binder, Preston, or if you try to steal it while I’m sleeping, I will tell the entire hospital about the Dignity Box. And I will include the explanation of just what happened when I first saw the box."
Preston pales. "You wouldn't."
"I would," Rosa says. "Now, Pierre is coming back. Look innocent."
Pierre returns with the contract.
"All ready," Pierre says, looking nervous as he approaches Rosa. "Just a signature here."
I sign the paper. The chocolate cake is secured. The venue is secured. And the mystery of M. Santos remains locked in a black leather binder, guarded by a woman who scares me more than the IRS.
"I love this family," Jax says, shaking his head as we stand up. "You guys are a mess. A beautiful, rich, chaotic mess. And we are absolutely terrified of the nurse."
"Agreed, your mother is diabolical Luke. Are we safe in your apartment?" Preston asks, turning towards Luke.
"No," Luke replies nonchalantly.
"No one is safe from me, you all know that. And you should be terrified, the Black Binder knows everything," Rosa says, standing up and smoothing her dress. "Now, let’s go to the Plaza. I want to see if I can make the event coordinator cry. It’s been a long day and I need the amusement."
"To the Plaza," I agree, taking Jax’s hand.
"To the Plaza," Jax echoes. "God help them."