Chapter 3
I stared at the image on Daniel's phone.
Patricia had handed Chloe an envelope.
Inside was my photograph.
And someone had described me as a threat.
The word didn't make sense.
I had spent fifteen years building the foundation.
I'd personally visited scholarship recipients, reviewed shelter programs, and helped create our emergency housing fund.
Why would anyone want me removed from an event I'd helped organize?
Marcus took the phone.
“Can you preserve the original recording?”
Daniel nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Don't send it to anyone else until our attorney and the venue's security director have reviewed it.”
“Understood.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Did you see what was written on the note?”
He hesitated.
“Only part of it.”
“What did it say?”
His voice dropped.
“Keep Nia Bennett away from the donors tonight. If she starts asking questions, create a scene.”
A chill moved down my back.
Marcus's expression hardened.
“Who else knows about this?”
“Just my supervisor and me.”
“Good. Please contact your supervisor. I want all relevant footage preserved.”
Daniel hurried away.
Marcus turned toward me.
“Nia, this is serious.”
“I know.”
“Did you receive any threats recently?”
I thought about the anonymous emails.
The strange phone calls.
The complaints that disappeared from my inbox.
Three weeks earlier, someone had sent me a message.
STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT THE FOUNDATION.
I'd dismissed it as harassment from an unhappy former employee.
Now I wasn't so sure.
“I got an email,” I admitted.
Marcus stared at me.
“What email?”
I told him.
His face changed.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you were dealing with the merger. And I didn't want to worry you over something that might be meaningless.”
He shook his head.
“Nia, nothing involving your safety is meaningless.”
I knew he was right.
Still, something else bothered me.
“Marcus, Patricia has been with us for years.”
“I know.”
“She's been in our home.”
His expression darkened.
“She attended our anniversary dinner.”
“She held our daughter when she was a baby.”
I stopped speaking.
Our daughter.
Amara.
Seventeen years old.
Smart.
Funny.
And about to begin her final year of high school.
She was supposed to arrive at the gala after her college-preparation seminar.
I grabbed my phone.
“Where's Amara?”
Marcus immediately checked his messages.
“She texted twenty minutes ago. She's on her way with Mrs. Evans.”
Mrs. Evans was our longtime family driver.
I called her.
She answered after two rings.
“Mrs. Bennett?”
“Is Amara with you?”
“Yes, ma'am. We're about ten minutes away.”
Relief loosened my chest.
“Please bring her through the private entrance. Don't let anyone from the foundation direct you elsewhere.”
Mrs. Evans sounded surprised.
“Is everything all right?”
“Just follow my instructions.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
When I hung up, Marcus was watching me.
“You think this involves Amara?”
“I don't know what to think.”
He took my hand.
“Then we'll find out together.”
We went downstairs to the private suite.
A hotel attendant brought me towels and a change of clothes from the emergency wardrobe maintained for the gala.
I changed into a simple black dress.
Then I washed the sticky red stains from my skin.
As I stood in front of the mirror, I looked at my reflection.
For years, I'd believed generosity could change people.
I'd believed that if you gave someone enough support, enough opportunity, enough encouragement, they would eventually choose kindness.
But Chloe had just humiliated a stranger because she thought that stranger lacked status.
And Patricia had apparently encouraged it.
I felt foolish.
Not because I'd trusted them.
Because I'd ignored signs that something was wrong.
Marcus knocked softly.
“Nia?”
“Come in.”
He entered holding two cups of tea.
He set one beside me.
Then he looked at my face.
“You're angry.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I blinked.
He gave a small smile.
“You've spent years protecting everyone else's feelings. Maybe it's time you protected your own.”
I looked down.
“I keep wondering whether I missed something.”
“You can't control what other people choose to do.”
“I hired Patricia.”
“The board hired her after a full search.”
“I defended her when staff complained she was difficult.”
Marcus sighed.
“We both made decisions based on what we knew.”
I swallowed.
“And what if we didn't want to know?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he sat beside me.
“Then we change that now.”
A knock interrupted us.
Our family attorney, Evelyn Ross, entered.
She was a sharp, practical woman who had represented Marcus's companies for more than a decade.
She carried a tablet and a thick folder.
“I came as soon as Marcus called.”
I stood.
“Evelyn, I think someone is using the foundation for something dishonest.”
She looked at me carefully.
“What makes you think that?”
I explained the complaints, the missing emails, and the security footage.
Evelyn listened without interrupting.
Then she opened her folder.
“I was hoping we wouldn't need to discuss this tonight.”
My heart sank.
“Discuss what?”
She turned the tablet toward us.
On the screen was a financial report.
Several large transfers had been flagged by an external accounting firm conducting our annual review.
The funds came from a restricted scholarship account.
The destination was a consulting company I'd never heard of.
P.C. Strategic Solutions.
My stomach tightened.
“P.C.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Patricia Coleman.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“How much?”
Evelyn looked grim.
“Based on the preliminary records, approximately three million dollars over eighteen months.”
I stared at her.
Three million dollars.
Money intended for students.
Children who needed books.
Transportation.
Tuition.
A chance at a better life.
I felt sick.
“How could that happen?”
“The transfers were disguised as program-management expenses. We haven't completed the investigation, so we don't know the full extent.”
Marcus stood.
“Freeze every payment connected to that company.”
Evelyn nodded.
“I've already begun coordinating with the bank and the board's audit committee.”
I looked at the report again.
One transfer caught my attention.
It had been approved using my digital signature.
I leaned closer.
“That's impossible.”
Evelyn frowned.
“What?”
“I never approved that.”
She studied the screen.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
The date appeared beneath the authorization.
March 14.
I remembered that day.
I'd been in Houston visiting a women's shelter.
My phone had stopped working halfway through the trip.
Patricia had insisted on arranging a replacement.
I looked at Marcus.
“She had access to my foundation account.”
His face went cold.
Evelyn immediately wrote something down.
“We'll need a forensic review of the authorization records.”
Before anyone could speak again, the suite door opened.
Amara rushed inside.
“Mom!”
She stopped when she saw our faces.
“What happened?”
I walked toward her.
“Sweetheart, we're okay.”
She hugged me.
But then she pulled back.
“Why did Chloe send me a message saying you attacked her?”
I froze.
Marcus turned sharply.
“What?”
Amara showed us her phone.
There was a message from Chloe.
YOUR MOTHER CAUSED A HUGE SCENE. SHE'S TRYING TO RUIN OUR FAMILY.
Below it was a photograph of my stained dress.
And another message.
ASK HER WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TO THE SCHOLARSHIP MONEY.
I stared at the screen.
My own daughter had been pulled into the lie.
May you like
And now I understood that whoever was behind this wasn't merely trying to embarrass me.
They were trying to make me look responsible for the missing money.
