Chapter 11 - THE EMPTY FOUNDATION|
Audrey refused to go alone.
She showed the message to Miriam, who immediately contacted the federal investigators. The photograph had been taken that morning at the foundation's unfinished expansion site, a property Audrey had spent three years helping to secure.
The building was supposed to become a center for women escaping domestic violence. It would include temporary housing, legal assistance, childcare, and job training.
Audrey had personally negotiated the land donation.
Now it was tied to a criminal investigation.
“I want to see it,” she said.
Miriam shook her head.
“It's a potential crime scene.”
“Then we go with the investigators.”
They arrived shortly after noon. The building was quiet, its windows covered in protective plastic. A row of construction vehicles stood beside the entrance.
An investigator checked the main office.
“Someone's been here.”
Audrey stepped inside.
The walls were unfinished, and the floor was covered in dust. A stack of blueprints lay on a table.
She recognized her own handwriting on the top page.
Her notes from the original planning meeting.
Someone had crossed out the section describing the emergency housing units and written a new project name beneath it.
Keane Harbor Commercial Development.
Audrey felt sick.
“They were never building the center.”
Miriam examined the document.
“Some of the work is real. But the funding has been redirected.”
An investigator called from the back corridor.
“Mrs. Keane, you need to see this.”
A locked office contained several computers and a wall safe. Inside the safe were contracts, bank records, and a photograph of Audrey with Douglas Prentiss.
The photograph had been taken at the foundation's first gala, twelve years earlier.
On the back was a note:
She trusts the wrong people.
Audrey looked at the investigator.
“Who wrote this?”
“We're checking.”
A second document showed that Douglas had been paid by a company connected to Peter Voss.
The payments began shortly after Audrey became executive director.
Miriam looked at the figures.
“He's been receiving money for years.”
“Then he wasn't just helping Victor.”
“No. He was part of the operation.”
Audrey walked to the window.
She could see the future center in her mind: children playing in the courtyard, women arriving with suitcases, volunteers helping families rebuild their lives.
She had promised people that place.
And someone had turned it into a doorway for stolen money.
Her phone rang.
A private number.
“Mrs. Keane,” a man said.
“Who is this?”
“Someone who knows where Douglas is.”
“Where?”
“An old warehouse near the port.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because Douglas has the original ledger.”
“Who are you?”
The man paused.
“Daniel Bell.”
Audrey gripped the phone.
“Are you alive?”
“For now.”
“Where are you?”
“Not somewhere safe.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I found out who ordered my disappearance. It wasn't Ronin.”
“Who was it?”
Daniel's voice dropped.
“Peter Voss.”
The call crackled.
“Mrs. Keane, listen. The ledger proves everything, but there is something else inside it.”
“What?”
“Your husband wasn't the only Keane they planned to remove.”
A loud noise sounded on Daniel's end.
He whispered:
“They're here.”
The call ended.
May you like
Audrey looked at Miriam.
“Find that warehouse.”
