Chương 8
Almost.
Then she noticed the conference badge sitting near his computer.
The same conference he had supposedly attended when his signature appeared on the inventory sheet.
She pointed at it.
“You went to the leadership conference last year.”
Daniel followed her hand.
“Yes.”
“For three days?”
“Yes.”
“On the day you signed the inventory record, you were in another state.”
The room changed.
Not dramatically.
Not like in movies.
Just enough that Mara felt the air between them become heavier.
Daniel looked at the badge.
Then at her.
“That record was probably entered later.”
“Your signature was dated.”
“Mara.”
“No.”
She stepped inside.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say my name like you’re trying to calm down a child.”
Daniel leaned back.
“I’m trying to understand what you’re suggesting.”
“I’m suggesting someone has been changing records.”
“Someone.”
The way he repeated the word made her stop.
“You think it’s me,” she said.
“I think you’re angry.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
Daniel looked away.
For the first time since she had known him, he did not immediately have a response.
The absence of an answer hurt more than an argument.
“I need access to the older financial records,” Mara said.
“No.”
She blinked.
“No?”
“The investigation is active.”
“I’m not investigating.”
“You’re digging through files connected to an investigation.”
“Because I found something.”
“And because you’re involved.”
Mara stared at him.
“I’m involved because someone made me look guilty.”
Daniel stood.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Then help me.”
His face changed slightly.
A small movement.
A tired movement.
“I can’t.”
The words landed harder than she expected.
“Why?”
Daniel walked toward the window.
Outside, parents were picking up their children.
A woman was struggling with a stroller while holding a phone between her shoulder and ear.
Two teenagers were arguing beside a bicycle rack.
Life continuing.
People needing things.
People depending on the building staying open.
“I signed things I shouldn’t have signed,” Daniel said quietly.
Mara did not move.
“What does that mean?”
“It means running this place is not what people think it is.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“It’s not.”
She waited.
Daniel looked older than he had the day before.
Not older in years.
Older in defeat.
“When the funding got reduced, we were short.”
“Short how?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Mara felt anger rise before she could stop it.
“Enough for what?”
Daniel turned.
“To keep programs open.”
“That doesn’t explain the records.”
“No.”
“Then explain.”
He sat down again.
“I made mistakes.”
The phrase was so small that Mara almost laughed.
People always used small words for large damage.
Mistake.
Oversight.
Miscommunication.
Words that made consequences sound accidental.
“What kind of mistakes?” she asked.
Daniel looked at the floor.
“I approved temporary transfers between accounts.”
“Without approval?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because children still needed meals.”
“And because you thought nobody would notice?”
His jaw tightened.
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
The sharpness surprised both of them.
Daniel rarely raised his voice.
“I spent six years trying to keep this place alive,” he said.
“I worked nights.
I called donors who ignored me.
I sat with families when we had no resources left.
I made choices because there was nobody else making them.”
Mara heard the truth inside his anger.
That was the worst part.
She believed him.
And she hated that she believed him.
“That still doesn’t make it right,” she said.
Daniel nodded slowly.
“I know.”
The room went quiet.
For a moment, neither of them was the person they had always been to the other.
He was not the reliable director who fixed problems.
She was not the calm employee who helped everyone else.
They were two exhausted people standing beside a problem neither of them had created alone.
“Did you change the records?” Mara asked.
Daniel looked at her.
“No.”
She searched his face.
“Did you know someone else was changing them?”
A longer pause.
That was the answer before he spoke.
“I suspected.”
Mara felt something inside her collapse.
“How long?”
“Months.”
“Months?”
“I didn’t know what I was looking at.”
“You knew enough to be afraid.”
Daniel sat back down.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s true.”
Mara looked at him for several seconds.
Daniel had always been someone who collected information.
He remembered birthdays.
He remembered grant deadlines.
He remembered small details about volunteers’ lives.
The idea that he had ignored something this serious felt impossible.
Then again, she had spent the last twenty-four hours learning that impossible things usually looked ordinary first.
Before she left, Daniel said something that made her stop.
“Mara.”
She turned.
“If you find out who did this…”
He hesitated.
“What?”
His fingers closed around the edge of the desk.
“Be careful what you prove.”
She frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It will.”
She wanted to demand an explanation.
She wanted to stay until he gave her one.
Instead, she walked away.
Outside his office, she found Lena standing near the copy machine.
The younger woman immediately looked guilty.
“You heard?”
Lena shook her head too quickly.
“No.”
“You did.”
“A little.”
Mara almost smiled.
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I know.”
They stood there with the copy machine making a grinding noise between them.
Finally Lena said, “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
Mara looked at her.
“I figured.”
Lena looked embarrassed.
“That sounded worse than I meant.”
“Most things do lately.”
Lena held a folder against her chest.
“I saw someone in the records room two weeks ago.”
Mara’s expression changed.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said you saw someone.”
“I saw a person.”
“That is not helpful.”
“I know.”
Lena looked frustrated with herself.
“They were wearing a maintenance jacket.”
“Male?”
“I think.”
“You think?”
“It was dark.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Lena looked away.
“Because I thought they belonged there.”
Mara wanted to be angry.
May you like
She could not.
Because that was exactly how people missed things.
