Chương 9
“My father kept donor reports,” she said. “Printed ones. He doesn’t trust portals.”
She placed the folder on the desk.
The reports covered five years of the rural library program. Each included photographs, grant totals, and claims about the number of books purchased.
June opened a recent report. “This branch is in the county where my parents lived. The foundation says it funded a full renovation and twenty thousand new books.”
“Didn’t it?”
“My father visited last month. They replaced the carpet and bought maybe three thousand books. The branch director said the grant was less than half what the report claimed.”
Elise examined the page.
The report listed a grant of $620,000. Internal records showed the same amount approved. If the library received less, the difference had gone somewhere between authorization and delivery.
“Did your father speak to the director directly?”
“Yes.”
“Would she confirm it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do not contact her again about this until counsel advises us.”
June’s mouth tightened. “You sound like Daniel.”
“I’m trying not to make her situation worse.”
“She runs a library. What situation?”
“The foundation may accuse her of misreporting funds. Her county may have contracts, insurers, auditors. She may be afraid.”
June sat down.
“My father wants his donations back.”
“He may have legal options, but I can’t advise him.”
“He doesn’t care about legal options. He wants someone to admit he was fooled.”
Elise closed the report.
“So do I.”
June looked at her for a long moment.
“That isn’t enough,” she said.
“No.”
It was the first conversation in which June’s anger felt less like a wall and more like a fact they both had to work around.
The library records created a new investigative path. Priya compared published grant claims with recipient tax filings and local government minutes. Several communities reported receiving substantially less than the foundation announced. In some cases, the difference matched payments to Arbor made within the same week.
The fraud was not only inflated overhead. Program grants had been overstated, allowing the foundation to claim broader impact while diverting the difference.
Nina had overseen those reports.
When Simone finally reached Nina through a nonprofit legal clinic, Nina agreed to one meeting.
They met in a conference room at the clinic’s office. Nina wore no scarf. Without color around her face, she looked exhausted.
Her attorney, Paul Kim, began by stating that Nina had not knowingly participated in theft and would not answer questions that might expose her without appropriate protections.
Simone said they understood.
Elise sat at the far end of the table.
Nina did not look at her.
Paul asked, “What information are you seeking?”
Elise answered. “How grant amounts in donor reports were calculated.”
Nina’s hands rested flat on the table. “Finance gave us the numbers.”
“Martin?”
“Usually.”
“Did the numbers match what programs received?”
“Not always.”
“When did you notice?”
Nina looked at her attorney.
Paul said, “You may answer if you can do so accurately.”
“Three years ago,” Nina said.
Elise felt the room narrow.
“What did you do?”
“I asked Martin. He said the difference included administrative support, evaluation, travel, and future-year commitments.”
“Did you believe him?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
Nina finally looked at Elise.
“Later I asked you.”
Elise searched her memory.
Nina’s face hardened. “At the winter retreat. In the hallway outside the ballroom. You were carrying place cards because Lucinda said the names were uneven.”
A hallway surfaced in Elise’s mind. Gold wallpaper. Boxes of printed menus. Nina standing beside a service door.
You had asked about reporting categories, Elise remembered. She had been late. Grant was waiting to rehearse donor remarks.
“What did I say?” Elise asked.
“You said Martin handled accounting classifications and that I should email him.”
Elise closed her eyes for half a second.
“I don’t remember.”
“I do.”
Paul shifted in his chair. “Nina.”
“No, she should hear it. I thought she was different. Everyone said Elise understands numbers, Elise built her own company, Elise isn’t just another Bellamy. Then she looked at me like I was asking where to store napkins.”
Elise did not defend herself.
Nina continued. “I emailed Martin. The next day Grant called me into his office. He said nonprofit reporting was complex and careless questions could damage donor trust. He asked whether I was unhappy in my job.”
“Did you preserve the email?” Simone asked.
“No. It disappeared from my mailbox after IT migrated the system.”
“Did you keep notes?”
“I started after that.”
Nina opened her bag and removed three spiral notebooks.
Paul placed a hand over them.
“These are contemporaneous personal notes,” he said. “We are not surrendering originals today.”
Nina slid the top notebook toward herself and opened it.
Dates filled the pages, along with initials and fragments of conversations.
“Lucinda held monthly meetings that were never on the official calendar,” Nina said. “Grant, Martin, sometimes Peter Voss. She called them stewardship reviews. We discussed which program numbers could support fundraising campaigns. When actual grants were smaller, she said the foundation had to present ambition, not bookkeeping.”
“Did she direct anyone to move money?”
“Not in those words.”
“What words did she use?”
Nina found a page.
“‘The family has carried this institution long enough. It is reasonable for the institution to carry some family obligations.’”
The sentence sounded like Lucinda.
Elise asked, “What obligations?”
“I didn’t know then. Later, Martin said Bellamy Holdings had debt coming due and the foundation’s office payments helped stabilize the company.”
“That was foundation money paying above-market rent?”
“Yes. And consulting. And events billed twice.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
Nina’s eyes flashed. “Why didn’t you?”
The question landed without raised voices.
Elise looked down at the notebooks.
“I liked believing I could fix things from inside,” Nina said. “Also, I needed the job. Both can be true.”
May you like
Paul asked for a break.
In the hallway, Elise found a vending machine and bought coffee. It tasted faintly of cardboard. She stood beside a window overlooking an alley while Simone joined her.
