Chapter 3 - Alexander Whitmore Opens the Archive
Alexander moved the gala into a private reception room.
The guests were asked to leave.
Victor refused.
“This is absurd.”
Alexander ignored him.
He looked at me.
“Do you still have the manuscript?”
“Yes.”
“Original?”
“Yes.”
“Dated?”
“My father's old video camera recorded me composing parts of it.”
Victor laughed.
“Home movies?”
Alexander turned.
“I suggest you stop helping her case.”
Victor shut his mouth.
Then Alexander made a phone call.
“Rebecca.”
Ten minutes later, Rebecca Sloan arrived.
General counsel for the Whitmore Foundation.
Alexander said:
“Open the 2014 fellowship archive.”
Rebecca frowned.
“That material is sealed.”
“Unseal it.”
“Alexander—”
“Now.”
The archive existed beneath the foundation's headquarters.
Applications.
Judges' notes.
Recordings.
Contracts.
Competition materials.
Almost everything.
Three hours later, Rebecca returned carrying a gray storage box.
My name was printed on the side.
BENNETT, SARAH — FINALIST
My knees weakened.
I had never seen it.
Rebecca opened the box.
Inside were my competition application.
My photograph.
Judge evaluations.
Then—
an envelope.
Sealed.
Addressed:
ALEXANDER WHITMORE — PERSONAL
Alexander stared.
“My wife wrote this.”
His wife, Eleanor, had died eleven years earlier.
Rebecca handed it to him.
Alexander opened the letter.
His expression changed as he read.
“What?”
I whispered.
He gave me the paper.
Eleanor had written:
> Sarah Bennett's submitted recording contains musical passages identical to Victor Dane's new composition, but Bennett's timestamp appears earlier than the materials provided by Dane. I believe someone has manipulated the archive. Do not finalize any accusation until we independently verify the records.
I stopped reading.
“She believed me?”
Alexander nodded.
“Apparently.”
“Then why…”
Rebecca answered.
“This letter was never delivered.”
Alexander looked at her.
“Who controlled the archive?”
She searched the old administrative record.
Then froze.
“Charles Whitmore.”
Alexander's son.
The current president of the foundation.
The man scheduled to inherit control after Alexander retired.
Alexander stared at the name.
His own son had received Eleanor's warning.
May you like
And buried it.
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