an arts education center beneath the balconies, and give conservation apprentices a place to learn skills that are disappearing.’
She looked at the drawing of the glass dome.
‘Can it be restored?’
‘Yes.
Not cheaply, and not quickly.
But yes.’
That was the beginning of a four-month process involving engineers, private donors, preservation specialists, lawyers, and financial advisers.
Lantern Works submitted a competitive proposal to lead the glass and architectural-art restoration.
An independent evaluation team reviewed our qualifications and budget.
We were selected conditionally for a contract worth approximately six million four hundred thousand dollars over four years.
The broader twenty-seven-million-dollar preservation package covered much more than our work: structural repairs, climate control, accessibility improvements, fire protection, educational facilities, and the restoration of the main auditorium.
The funding wasn’t a suitcase of cash.
It consisted of donor commitments, planned preservation financing, and phased expenditures subject to final agreements.
But it was real.
For the first time in decades, the theater had a realistic path toward reopening.
I kept the negotiations confidential because the financing was not complete and because I wanted the preservation plan to stand on its merits, not on family drama.
Then, three weeks before Grant’s farewell gala, a title company contacted me about a document connected to the proposed sale.
The attached form appeared to contain my signature authorizing the transfer.
I stared at it for a long time.
The signature looked convincing from a distance.
Whoever had prepared it had clearly copied the shape of my handwriting from another document.
But I hadn’t signed anything.
I called my attorney, Patricia Shaw, and forwarded the file.
Patricia asked me to confirm that I had not authorized anyone to sign for me.
‘Absolutely not,’ I said.
‘Then we notify the title company and buyer immediately.
We also preserve the original correspondence and request the complete transaction file.’
By the next morning, formal notices had been sent disputing the signature and explaining the operating agreement’s consent requirements.
The title company acknowledged the dispute and suspended its work on the closing pending resolution.
We did not yet know who had placed the signature on the document.
But I knew who would benefit from it.
I decided to attend the gala.
Not to humiliate Grant.
Not to make a dramatic speech.
I wanted to hear what he would tell our family, the prospective buyer, and the invited donors about a sale that he knew was legally disputed.
Dr.
Moore also agreed to attend.
Grant had invited her weeks earlier, assuming her wealthy contacts might be useful to his next development project.
He had even offered her a few minutes at the microphone to discuss the theater’s future.
That decision would soon become the most expensive mistake of his evening.
At seven-thirty, I entered the Alder Theater wearing a charcoal canvas coat over a black blouse, straight-legged trousers, and my worn work boots.
A catering assistant was struggling to carry a tray of empty glasses through the crowded foyer.
I helped her steady it.
Grant spotted me immediately.
‘Mara, perfect timing.
Since you’re already carrying things, why don’t you help the staff clear those tables?’
Two of his business associates laughed.
I set the tray safely on the service station.
‘I’m here as a guest, Grant.’
‘Of course you are,’ he replied.
