Stephanie replaced the empty bottle of merlot on the large oblong table as the housekeeper cleared away the last of the dinner dishes.

Although Royce was stuck in London until Saturday, the remaining four board members of the Genevieve Fund were empowered to make decisions on this year’s projects.

“I like the school in West Africa,” said Stephanie. “Most of the kids in that region are from agricultural families.”

“Mom would like that,” Jared acknowledged, then caught Stephanie’s fleeting wince. This year in particular, he knew his sister felt a hole in her life where her mother should have been.

Along with their grandfather, he and Royce had struggled to keep their mother’s memory alive for her, showing videos, telling stories, displaying mementos. But there was a loneliness inside her that they couldn’t seem to fill. It had always manifested itself in hard work and a driving need to succeed. Jared only had to look at the row of equestrian jumping trophies along the mantelpiece to know how hard she pushed herself.

“Yes to the West Africa school.” Otto put a check mark on page three of his report. “And I think we can all agree on increasing the animal shelter contributions. Now, the South American clinic project?”

“I still think it’s too dangerous,” said Jared. He knew his brother, Royce, had advocated for the project after meeting a British university student who’d worked in the mountainous region. But there were too many unknowns, too many frightening stories coming out of the area.

“The rebel activity has been down in that area for six months now,” Anthony put in. “And we will use a contractor with experience in the area.”

“What about security?” Jared countered. It wasn’t the first time the Genevieve Fund had worked in an unstable part of the world, but the other projects had a multiagency, multinational presence, and security had been provided by experts.