Chapter 7 - Noah’s Choice
Henry Bennett did not want his son involved anymore.
He said so over dinner.
“No interviews. No more meetings with Morgan lawyers. No digging through my work files.”
Noah stared at him.
“You gave me the invoice.”
“I showed you an invoice because I was angry.”
“And now?”
“Now Grant canceled our engineering contract.”
Noah’s mother, Elise Bennett, put down her fork.
“How much business?”
Henry looked away.
“Forty percent this year.”
Noah’s face changed.
“You told me it was temporary.”
“I hoped it was.”
“Because I helped Hannah?”
“Grant called it restructuring.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Probably.”
“Then why are we acting like he gets to punish us?”
Henry snapped, “Because payroll is due next Friday!”
Silence.
Noah leaned back.
His father rarely shouted.
Henry rubbed both hands across his face.
“I’m sorry.”
Noah looked toward the dark window.
“I can stop.”
Henry closed his eyes.
That answer hurt more.
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
Noah turned.
Henry continued.
“I spent twenty years telling you integrity matters when it costs nothing. Apparently this is the part where I find out whether I meant it.”
The next day Henry provided Morgan Foundation investigators with complete project records.
His firm had recommended replacing Pier 4’s runoff and gray-water filtration equipment after contamination readings exceeded internal club standards.
Grant’s office reduced the scope.
Then North Light Marine Services billed for the full replacement anyway.
Henry had complained.
Grant responded in an email:
Owner has accepted revised field completion. Close file.
“Who is ‘owner’?” Hannah asked.
“Harbor Crest,” Henry replied.
“Meaning Grant.”
“As board chair, effectively.”
David’s forensic accountant, Rebecca Sloan, traced North Light payments.
Money entered from Harbor Crest Yacht Club and Harbor Youth Sailing Foundation.
Within days, large portions moved to Hart Waterfront Holdings.
Grant’s private development company.
Hannah stared at the flow chart.
“How much?”
“Preliminary total, one-point-seven million over three years.”
David said, “Preliminary.”
Hannah looked at him.
“I know.”
He smiled faintly.
She was learning.
Then Rebecca added, “Some payments may be legitimate. We need invoices, bank records, contracts, and independent validation.”
“Fine.”
Hannah pointed.
“But money definitely moved.”
“Yes.”
Grant began fighting publicly.
He held a press conference outside Harbor Crest.
“Hannah Morgan’s treatment was unacceptable,” he said. “But David Morgan is using a dispute involving teenagers to launch a hostile financial attack on an institution serving hundreds of local families.”
The phrase “hundreds of local families” appeared in every news clip.
So did footage of scholarship students sailing.
Jasmine texted Hannah:
Half those kids came once for photo day.
Hannah nearly posted it.
Her thumb hovered above the screen.
Then she heard her father’s voice in her head.
Accuracy before speed.
She locked the phone.
That felt like winning an argument nobody else could see.
Later that afternoon, Brittany requested another meeting.
Her mother’s catering contract had been “temporarily paused.”
Hannah felt sick.
“I’m sorry.”
Brittany shook her head.
“My mom says it’s not your fault.”
“It’s because you gave us the video.”
“Yes.”
“That makes it partly because of me.”
“No,” Brittany said. “It makes it because Grant is doing exactly what everyone was afraid he’d do.”
Brittany produced screenshots from the junior-team group chat.
Three days before the regatta:
Taylor: Grant says some Morgan Foundation kid is coming to spy.
Lexi: Which one?
Taylor: Idk.
Lexi: I’ll figure it out.
Then, the morning of the humiliation:
Taylor: White shirt girl keeps talking to scholarship kids.
Lexi: Knew it.
Brittany: Leave her alone.
Lexi: Relax.
Then:
Lexi: Maybe she needs a Harbor Crest welcome.
Hannah read silently.
The attack had been premeditated.
Not by Grant.
At least not directly.
But Grant had primed Lexi to see the foundation observer as an enemy.
“Can we use this?” Hannah asked.
Brittany’s lawyer nodded.
“With authentication.”
Brittany looked ashamed.
“I should have stopped her.”
“You told her to leave me alone.”
“I still recorded it.”
Hannah thought about that.
Recording had helped expose the truth.
Recording had also turned humiliation into entertainment.
Both could be true.
“I hated you for about five minutes,” Hannah admitted.
Brittany blinked.
“Only five?”
“Maybe ten.”
Brittany laughed weakly.
Then became serious.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“After you went inside, Lexi called her dad.”
Hannah leaned forward.
“What did she say?”
“I couldn’t hear everything.”
“Anything?”
Brittany nodded.
“She said, ‘I got the folder.’”
Noah stared at her.
“And Grant?”
“I heard his voice through the phone.”
“What did he say?”
May you like
Brittany swallowed.
“Bring it to Alan.”
