Chapter 3
I spent the rest of the flight looking at old messages from Dad.
There were photos of his tomatoes, reminders to eat lunch, and one voicemail I had never deleted.
“Call me when you land, son. I want to hear how the presentation went.”
His voice sounded strong in that recording. He had left it six months before the illness took him.
I put the phone away before I could lose my composure.
When we landed, Andre arranged for me to leave through the normal passenger exit. He had removed the private meeting instruction and documented the change.
Evelyn waited near the cabin door.
“Marcus,” she said, “we need to talk.”
“You can contact my attorney.”
“You don’t even know whether you need one.”
“I know my name is on documents I haven’t seen.”
She glanced at Andre.
“Your father asked me to protect his work.”
“Then show me what you have.”
“Not in an airport.”
I walked past her.
Dana had already contacted my lawyer, Aisha Morgan. Aisha called as I reached the car service.
“Don’t sign anything today,” she said.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“I’m collecting the foundation’s public filings and asking for its internal records. Go to your meeting, but tell me if anyone tries to redirect you.”
The partnership meeting went badly because I could barely concentrate. My counterpart, an engineer named Priya Rao, noticed.
“Is there a problem with the proposal?” she asked.
“No. A family matter came up on the flight.”
“We can move this to tomorrow.”
I almost refused. Dad had wanted this partnership. He had spent his last good months introducing us to the right people.
Then I realized he would have wanted me to be honest with Priya more than he wanted me to pretend I was listening.
“Tomorrow would help,” I said.
At my hotel, Aisha was waiting on video with Dana.
The foundation had not closed. Its assets had grown after Dad’s death because several companies had made donations. One large donation came from a trust connected to his estate.
“Dad left a gift to the scholarship program,” I said.
“Yes,” Aisha replied. “The problem is the documents filed afterward. They say you approved a change in the foundation’s purpose.”
I read the page she sent.
The program would now support “strategic leadership initiatives.” Scholarships were mentioned only in a small paragraph near the end.
My name appeared beneath an electronic signature.
“That isn’t mine.”
Aisha asked me to look at the date. It was the week of Dad’s funeral.
“I was at home with my mother’s sister and my cousins,” I said. “I didn’t open foundation paperwork.”
Dana checked my calendar. The only appointment on it that day was with the funeral director.
“We’ll obtain the signature record,” Aisha said. “Do you know Evelyn?”
“I remember meeting her once in Dad’s study. She told me she worked with donor families.”
“Your father’s records may explain why she became director.”
After the call, I rang my younger sister, Leah.
She answered with a breathless hello. Her twins were arguing in the background.
“Do you remember Evelyn Whitmore?” I asked.
“The woman with the gold scarf?”
“Yes.”
“I remember Dad telling her to come back when his lawyer was present.”
I stood up.
“When?”
“Two or three months before he died. I was bringing him soup. She was in the hall, and they were both upset.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“He said she wanted him to approve a new plan for the foundation. He didn’t like it.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought he had told you. You were handling his medical appointments and the company. I didn’t want to add another worry.”
We both went quiet. We had each tried to protect the other by leaving out something important.
“I’ll send Aisha what you remember,” I said.
“Marcus, are you safe?”
“I am. I’m at the hotel.”
“Please keep it that way.”
That evening, a courier delivered an envelope to my room. I asked the desk to hold it until Aisha confirmed it was safe to accept. Inside was a letter from Evelyn’s lawyer.
It said the foundation’s board wanted me to attend an emergency meeting the next morning. It also claimed I had agreed to serve as its beneficiary representative and had failed to perform my duties.
Aisha read it while I waited on the phone.
“They’re trying to make your absence look like consent to their decisions,” she said. “We’ll respond in writing. You won’t go alone.”
A second attachment was included with the letter.
It listed payments from the foundation to an education company I had never heard of.
May you like
At the bottom of the page was the company’s owner.
Evelyn’s son.
