Page 9 of Split Decision

The hallway feels longer than it should as I walk toward the conference room. Conversations stop as I pass. Eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second before looking away, just enough not to make it uncomfortable… for them. Others flash their pointedly concerned faces—eyes drawn in the corners, tight lips that suggest a grimace more than a smile, and heads tilted slightly to the side. But the question of guilt lingers in the air between us.

The boardroom at the youth center has always felt like home. In fact, I designed everything here to create a welcoming atmosphere because I didn’t want any other tone in this building. The kids deal with enough conflict when they’re away from here, so the environment we provide during the few hours they’re here matters. Every room, every interaction, every aspect has been intentionally crafted to be hospitable and accepting.

Today, this room feels like a glass box, and I’m the insect being dissected under the microscope.

Marin is already here, sitting beside Brandon at the long table. She isn’t technically on the board. She isn’t voting. She’s “advising” as part of her role as an image consultant and crisis manager. Brandon is here as support, but I’m not sure yet if that’s for Marin or for me.

That word that keeps circling the drain in my head.Advising. Influencing. Persuading. Controlling. Everything feels and sounds like Jackson Rhoades. Will I ever get him out of my head?

The audit letter I received is projected on the wall. There’s very specific language outlining the expectations of our financial oversight. There are questions stated as concerns about our fiduciary diligence. Then, there’s the heavy hitter line: the community's confidence in our programs, what we’re teaching the kids, and what they’re learning by example.

The donors look nervous. They’re not being accusatory. They’re concerned because their names are tied to this, the same as mine. They’ve seen how I’ve been skewered in every published story, online forum discussion, and social media post by overnight legal experts and keyboard warriors. They don’t want to be next, and they don’t want the center shut down because of public scrutiny.

Marin speaks softly, but the room quiets around her.

“This is manageable,” she says. “However, any perception of continued or escalated conflict could speed up funding hesitation from your donors and sponsors.”

I keep my hands flat on the table.

“What perception of conflict?” I ask.

“The perception that personal relationships may influence financial structuring.”

She’s not issuing an accusation against me. She’s suggesting the public may reach their own conclusions and turn against us even more.

One thought keeps swirling in my head.I built this place from scratch.

I balanced every ledger myself for years because I refused to give anyone leverage. I’ve poured my heart, soul, and time into every square inch of this building, and even more so into the kids who walk these halls. Even to infer I’ve done anything remotely inappropriate boils my blood, but I keep my feelings and thoughts to myself. I’ve become adept at keeping my face and voice utterly expressionless.

It’s not wise to keep my feelings bottled up, or so I’ve been told. Marin wasn’t the one who told me that, though.

“You’re implying I mismanaged funds,” I say evenly.

No one answers right away, but no one will meet my direct gaze, either.

“No,” Marin replies finally. “I’m suggesting critics will.”

“Every dollar is accounted for,” I say. “Every program is documented. There’s nothing here to question.”

No one disagrees.

That’s not the problem.

She shifts her attention to the other board members. The same way she shifted her attention to Luke last night. “The fastest way to protect the organization is temporary distance from any figure currently under regulatory review.”

The air changes. I feel it immediately, as it squeezes the oxygen from the room and replaces it with unbearable tension. Every board member is looking at me differently now. They’re not thinking I’m guilty of any wrongdoing. They’re thinking I’m a risk… and their responsibility is to manage that risk to the youth center. But most of all, they’re thinking they have to minimize the risk I pose to their reputation, credibility, and future.

“I disagree. If I walk away just because someone asks questions, the public will automatically infer I’m guilty. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be so quick to back down. That’s exactly what I would think in their shoes. But if I stand myground, present the documentation, and prove the critics wrong, that establishes trust and credibility and demonstrates innocence. The very system that’s attempting to dismantle everything I’ve built would be the one in question at that point.”

Marin doesn't flinch. She doesn't look at the board to gauge their reaction. She looks at me, which is all the more unsettling—the focused attention of someone who has already rehearsed this argument and has been waiting to address it.

"You're describing a strategy that works when the audience is impartial," she says. "When the people watching are genuinely undecided and willing to be persuaded by evidence." She pauses, not for effect—for precision. "That's not the audience you have right now. That audience is rare."

"Then who is the audience?" I ask.

"Three groups." She says it the way she says everything—measured, without apology, and with a reserved authority that makes others pay attention. "People who already believe you, who will continue to believe you regardless of what you do. People who already believe the narrative against you, who will interpret every piece of documentation you produce as proof that you had something to hide and needed to prepare a defense. And the middle group—donors, parents, community partners—who aren't hostile,but who are conflict-averse. Who read the wordauditand the wordreviewand decide that wherever there's smoke, the safest thing is to step back."

She briefly rests her hands on the table. "The third group isn't asking whether you're guilty. They're asking whether engaging with this publicly makes their association with the center a liability. The moment you hold a press conference or release documentation in response to questions, you've confirmed there are questions. You've put the youth center in the story. You've made every sponsor, every donor, every parent calculate their own risk." She gazes at me. "That calculation rarely goes well for the organization being defended, even when the defense is airtight."