But that wasn’t why people watched him.
Richard Bennett almost never appeared anywhere.
He did not attend celebrity fundraisers.
He rarely gave interviews.
He had never married.
Every profile ever written about him mentioned the same fact: his mother had died when he was nine.
There were no siblings.
No wife.
No children.
The photographs always made him look cold.
In person, what struck me was how tired his eyes were.
I was carrying sparkling water when Margaret swept toward him.
“Richard.”
“Margaret.”
“You made it.”
“I said I would.”
Something in his tone caught my attention.
Not warm.
Not hostile.
Careful.
Margaret touched his arm.
“The foundation would not exist without you.”
Richard looked around the room.
His gaze passed over senators, donors, photographers.
Then, briefly, over me.
He stopped.
Only for a second.
His eyes moved to my wrist.
My sleeve had slipped.
A purple bruise showed beneath it.
