Chapter 8 - THE FAMILY TABLE
The Costanzo Family Table met without Veronica.
Not a legal board.
A cultural council.
Exactly the kind of institution that creates trouble when people forget the difference.
Older relatives wanted to “settle” the wedding incident.
Their proposal:
Veronica apologizes.
I apologize for the slap.
Alessia withdraws temporarily from the audit because of “appearance of personal conflict.”
Then a different committee reviews San Vittore later.
Convenient.
I asked:
“Who drafted this?”
My aunt Helena.
Veronica’s mother.
Of course.
Then I looked around the room.
“Why should Alessia withdraw?”
Uncle Matteo said:
“Because after what happened, nobody can believe she’s neutral.”
I answered:
“She was reviewing records before the chair was pulled.”
“Yes, but now—”
“Now what?”
Silence.
Then Alessia spoke from the far end.
She was wearing a temporary brace and sitting with her right leg supported.
“I’ll recuse from findings directly related to Veronica’s conduct toward me.”
Good.
Then:
“I will not recuse from accounting work simply because the person being reviewed decided to humiliate me.”
Better.
Helena snapped:
“Listen to how she speaks.”
I turned.
“How?”
“Like a prosecutor.”
“She’s an audit director.”
“She’s your little sister.”
There.
That was exactly the problem.
In family rooms, Alessia remained little sister.
In governance, she was director.
People chose whichever identity weakened her.
Then Helena said:
“This family did not build San Vittore so outsiders could tear through our books.”
The foundation’s outside accountant was sitting six feet away.
He raised one eyebrow.
I almost smiled.
Then Alessia answered:
“If books can be torn by being read, they’re already broken.”
My father would have liked that.
Then the Family Table proposal failed.
Not by my decree.
Most relatives realized removing Alessia after the assault would look exactly like retaliation.
Good.
Then one elderly cousin asked Veronica’s absent chair to remain empty during the meeting.
Symbolic.
I refused.
“Furniture is not governance.”
People looked disappointed.
We had enough chair symbolism.
Then Marcus whispered:
May you like
“Progress.”
I told him to shut up.
