Chapter 7 - A Charity Built on a Lie|
By midnight, Dante's private conference room had become a wall of documents, photographs, and financial records.
Clara sat at the end of the table, wrapped in a borrowed sweater, while three analysts compared public filings with old company ledgers. Her knee throbbed whenever she moved, but she refused to leave.
The foundation's name appeared in annual reports dating back eighteen years.
The Evelyn Bennett Children's Fund claimed to support children from low-income families, offering school supplies, emergency housing, and scholarships. Its glossy website featured photographs of smiling children and carefully arranged charity events.
Clara recognized none of the locations.
“My mother would never have approved this,” she said.
Dante stood beside the screen.
“Did she ever volunteer with children?”
“She helped at a neighborhood center on Saturdays. She brought books, coats, and food. Sometimes she worked with families who couldn't afford legal representation.”
“Did she keep records?”
“She kept everything.”
Clara almost smiled sadly.
“Receipts, letters, appointment cards. She even kept the instruction booklet for our first microwave.”
One of the analysts cleared his throat.
“The foundation's public reports show donations totaling more than twelve million dollars over eighteen years.”
Clara stared at him.
“How much went to the children?”
“We're still verifying that. The filings list several grant recipients, but some organizations have dissolved. Others have no public record of receiving the amounts reported.”
Dante leaned forward.
“Where did the money go?”
“A substantial portion was transferred through two consulting companies. One was registered to a retired accountant. The other was dissolved six years ago.”
“Names?”
The analyst displayed them.
The first company was connected to Richard Vale's investment firm.
The second had been registered to a woman who had worked in the Moretti Group's finance department.
Dante's expression darkened.
“Who authorized the transfers?”
“Several signatures appear on the records. Some are electronic. We can't yet verify whether the signatories approved the payments personally.”
Clara noticed one name repeated in the older documents.
Victoria Ashford.
She stared at it.
“Victoria?”
Dante turned.
“What about her?”
“She told me she had worked in event management before joining her family's business. She handled this gala's donor records, and she asked me to make changes to the foundation's guest list.”
“Did she ask you to alter any financial documents?”
Clara thought carefully.
“Not directly. She asked me to replace an attachment in a folder and said the original was outdated. I didn't read the pages. I assumed they were event expenses.”
Dante's voice remained level.
“Did you keep a copy?”
“No.”
“Did you send it to anyone?”
“Only to the accounting office she gave me.”
He nodded.
“Then we investigate the records, not your assumptions. You weren't responsible for verifying documents you weren't authorized to review.”
Clara had expected suspicion. Instead, his words gave her something she hadn't realized she needed: permission not to blame herself for every bad thing that happened around her.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Victoria appeared.
You have caused enough trouble. Come to my office tomorrow at nine. Bring every document you have. If you refuse, I'll tell everyone you stole from me.
Clara read it twice.
Dante held out his hand.
“May I see?”
She passed him the phone.
He read the message and handed it back.
“Don't respond yet.”
“I'm not afraid of her.”
“Good. Fear makes people careless. Anger does, too.”
“I want to tell her exactly what I think of her.”
“You can. But do it when you're ready, not when she chooses.”
Clara looked at him.
“Do you always tell people what to do?”
“No. Only when they're about to walk into a trap.”
“Then tell me something useful. Why would Victoria risk everything to protect a charity fund?”
“Maybe she isn't protecting the fund.”
He pointed to the transfer records.
“Maybe she's protecting the people who used it.”
At two in the morning, an analyst found a new connection. The foundation's current administrative address matched an office building owned by a company controlled by Richard Vale.
A second record showed that the company had paid consulting fees to a firm associated with Victoria's father.
A third document revealed that the gala's largest sponsor had made a donation shortly before a major property acquisition by the same network of companies.
The pattern was suspicious, but it wasn't proof of criminal conduct by any single person.
Dante ordered the documents copied and preserved for independent review.
Then Clara noticed something else.
A list of foundation scholarship recipients included a name she knew.
Her own.
She leaned toward the screen.
“That's impossible.”
The analyst checked the record.
“Clara Bennett. Scholarship award, age nineteen. Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“I never received a scholarship.”
The room fell silent.
Clara read the address listed beneath her name.
It was the apartment where she had lived with her mother.
Her signature appeared at the bottom of the page.
It looked almost like hers.
Almost.
May you like
But the date printed beside it was three months after her mother had died.
And the person listed as the approving witness was Victoria Ashford.
