“The exhibition remains open.”
“You are welcome to continue enjoying it.”
Nobody knew how.
The room stayed frozen.
The owner sighed.
Then picked up the catalog the director had dropped.
Opened it.
Looked at the first page.
A young woman nearby laughed nervously.
That broke something.
Conversation slowly returned.
The quartet continued.
Waiters moved again.
Guests began whispering.
The owner walked toward a quieter corner.
The chairman followed.
“You were supposed to call me if anything happened.”
She looked at him.
“I was busy being removed.”
He closed his eyes.
“This is not funny.”
“No.”
“It isn't.”
He lowered his voice.
“How bad?”
The owner glanced toward the staff hallway.
“Worse than I hoped.”
The chairman looked confused.
“You came expecting something?”
“Not that.”
“But something.”
“Yes.”
He studied her.
“What haven't you told me?”
The owner looked across the ballroom.
At staff.
Security.
Guests.
Then:
“Complaints are disappearing.”
His face changed.
“What?”
“Not deleted.”
“Reclassified.”
“How many?”
“I don't know yet.”
The chairman looked toward the director’s disappearing figure.
“You think she’s involved?”
“I think she just showed me how comfortable she is making status decisions without verification.”
The chairman exhaled.
“That doesn't mean systematic suppression.”
“No.”
“It doesn't.”
The owner looked at him.
“That is why we investigate.”
He nodded.
“Legal?”
“Tonight.”
The chairman looked toward the crowd.
“This video will be everywhere in an hour.”
“Yes.”
“Communications?”
“No statement beyond facts.”
“People will speculate.”
“They always do.”
“Should we identify you?”
“They already will.”
He nodded.
“You know what the headline will be.”
“Yes.”
“Racist director humiliates secret billionaire owner.”
The owner grimaced.
“Exactly.”
The chairman looked at her.
“Is that inaccurate?”
“Too simple.”
She turned toward him.
“And the billionaire part teaches the wrong lesson.”
He understood.
Eventually.
“The conduct shouldn't be wrong because you own the company.”
“Exactly.”
She looked toward the Black security guard who had now replaced one of the original team near the entrance.
“If I were a teacher who saved for six months to attend this preview, would the conduct be less wrong?”
“No.”
“A young collector?”
“No.”
“A stylist?”
“No.”
“A hotel employee invited by a client?”
“No.”
“A person who could afford nothing in the room?”
The chairman paused.
Then:
“Still no.”
“Good.”
She closed the catalog.
“Remember that when communications starts writing heroic nonsense.”
He almost smiled.
“Yes, ma’am.”
At 11:40 that night, the ballroom was empty.