Fiona's face was composed, the hair at her nape wound tight, the makeup precise. She had the look of someone who had rehearsed every expression until none of them betrayed her. The folder lay open in front of her, papers arranged like a plan.
For a moment no one spoke. Then a director cleared his throat, the sound small and brittle.
"Ms. Hayes," he said, as if the name needed formality.
Fiona smiled, and the smile was a blade. "Good morning," she said. "Thank you for coming."
Isadora's voice came out steadier than she felt. "What is this?"
Fiona's eyes flicked to the folder, then back to Isadora. "A meeting," she said. "An audit. A review. A necessary clarification."
"You don't have clearance to call this," Isadora said. "You don't—"
"I have what I need," Fiona interrupted. "And I have the right to be here."
