Lena

The donor spreadsheet had stopped making sense twenty minutes ago.

Not because it was complicated, it wasn't, relatively speaking. Names, giving histories, areas of philanthropic interest, notes about who knew whom and who should be seated near which speaker for maximum emotional resonance. I'd built it myself over the past two weeks from the materials Nate had given me and the research I'd done independently, and it was good work, organized work, the kind of spreadsheet that had a logic to it that felt satisfying when you followed it through.

But it was nine o'clock on a Monday night and I'd been at the kitchen table since six and...