Page 135 of Split Decision

I don't look up immediately—the front door opens and closes dozens of times on an afternoon like this. I'm reading a paragraph about program outcome metrics when Mrs. Alvarez appears in my doorway.

Her expression is the one she uses when something requires my attention, and she hasn't decided yet how much.

"There's a woman asking for you," she says. "She doesn't have an appointment."

"Did she say what it's about?"

"Institutional support." A pause. "She has a business card."

I close the laptop. "Send her in."

The womanwho walks through my office door is in her late fifties or early sixties—it's difficult to place precisely, which tells me she's the kind of person who has spent time ensuring it is difficult. Composed the way money and practice produce composure. She's wearing something simple and dark that costs more than it looks like it costs. She walks into my office the way people walk into rooms they've already assessed from outside.

She offers her hand.

"Andi Morgan," she says. "I'm sorry to come without an appointment. I was in the neighborhood, and I've been meaning to make this visit for some time."

Her voice is warm. Not excessively—precisely. Warm at the right temperature for the moment.

"Please sit down," I say.

She sits. She looks around my office, the way people do when gathering information, while appearing to admire the space. Her gaze moves to the program photographs on the wall, to the grant documentation stacked on the credenza, to the window that looks out over the activity room where the after-school kids are currently arranged in three groups doing homework.

"Remarkable work," she says. And means it—I believe she means it, which is the most unsettling thing about sitting across from her.

"Thank you." I keep my voice level. "What can I do for you?"

She reaches into her bag and places a business card on the desk between us.

"I serve on the board of the Southeastern Governance Initiative," she says. "We've been following your advocacy work—the legislative testimony in particular. There are funding mechanisms available to organizations doing the kind of structural reform work you're doing that aren't widely publicized. I'd like to discuss whether some of those resources might be applicable here."

I look at the card.

The name on it is printed in clean, understated type.

Evelyn Carrington.

Governance Consulting and Advisory Services.

The room doesn't move.My hands don't move. Outside my window, the kids are doing homework in three groups, Mrs. Alvarez is somewhere down the hall, and Luke is parked across the street in a truck with a clear line of sight to the front entrance.

I look at Evelyn Carrington.

She glances back at me with the straightforward confidence of a woman who has spent years in rooms like this, excelling at her craft, and has no reason to doubt that the person opposite her is exactly what they seem.

The director of a youth center who has had a difficult year.

A woman who could use some institutional support.

A target who doesn't know she's a target.

"I appreciate your coming," I say.

My voice is warm. Not excessively. Precisely.

"I'd love to hear more about what the Initiative has available." I set the business card on my desk—not in a drawer, not face-down—exactly where she had placed it. "Can I offer you coffee?"

She smiles.