Chapter 2 - THE LAWYER WHO TOLD ME NOT TO CRY
My attorney's name was Evelyn Brooks.
She was fifty-two, wore practical navy suits, and had the unnerving ability to listen to terrible news without changing her expression.
I'd met her years earlier through a nonprofit board.
When I called and told her I needed to discuss my marriage and the scholarship foundation, she cleared her afternoon.
I arrived carrying Grace's notebook, copies of the screenshots she'd shown me, and a headache that had been growing since breakfast.
Evelyn listened while I explained the photograph, the messages, and the suspicious transfers.
When I finished, she didn't immediately speak.
Instead, she slid a box of tissues across her desk.
That small gesture nearly undid me.
"I don't know which part hurts more," I admitted. "The affair or the fact that he might have stolen from children."
Evelyn folded her hands.
"We need to separate what we know from what we suspect."
I nodded.
"Your husband's relationship with Ms. Price appears personal. The foundation records suggest payments to her company. But neither proves fraud on its own."
"Then what do we do?"
"We obtain records through proper channels. We protect your financial interests. And we make sure your daughter isn't put in the middle."
I looked down.
"She already is."
"Then we help her step out of it."
Evelyn asked whether I was still a foundation trustee.
"Yes. Vice chair."
"Do you have access to the official accounting reports?"
"I should."
"Good. Request them as a trustee. Don't use Grace's account or ask her to gather anything else."
She leaned forward.
"And don't confront Derek until we understand whether foundation money is at risk."
I stared.
"The gala is Saturday."
"I know."
"He's supposed to announce this year's scholarships."
Evelyn's expression sharpened.
"How many?"
"Twenty-four students."
"Have the awards been independently verified?"
I hesitated.
"Derek's office handles the final disbursements."
She wrote something down.
"Then we start there."
By Friday morning, I had learned that the scholarship fund's financial statements contained discrepancies stretching back eighteen months.
My mother had left me a substantial inheritance, but the foundation wasn't simply my private account. It was an established nonprofit with its own trustees, donors, reporting obligations, and scholarship recipients.
Derek had gradually taken over its administrative operations, claiming his company's accounting department could reduce costs.
I'd trusted him.
That was the sentence I kept returning to.
I'd trusted him.
I trusted him when he said our marriage was fine.
I trusted him when he said work required another weekend away.
I trusted him when he assured me the scholarship fund was thriving.
Evelyn called shortly after lunch.
"We found something."
My heart jumped.
"What?"
"Aster Lane Consulting was formed nineteen months ago. Ms. Price is listed as its manager."
I closed my eyes.
"Of course she is."
"There's more. The foundation's records show several invoices for student verification services. But the invoices don't identify individual applicants or completed work."
"Can we stop the payments?"
"We can ask the independent trustees to authorize an emergency review. I've already prepared the request."
I swallowed.
"And Derek?"
"He'll be notified when the trustees receive it."
I looked toward the dining room.
Our wedding photograph stood on the sideboard.
Derek's arm around my waist.
Both of us smiling.
I wondered when that photograph had stopped representing anything real.
"Evelyn?"
"Yes?"
"Can you prepare the divorce papers too?"
A pause.
Then she answered gently.
"Yes."
That night, Derek came home carrying a garment bag.
"Big weekend," he announced.
I was helping Grace with a science project at the kitchen table.
He kissed the top of her head.
"Ready for tomorrow, princess?"
Grace stiffened.
I noticed.
Derek didn't.
"Mom says I can wear my blue dress," she replied.
"Perfect."
He looked at me.
"Your gown arrived?"
"Yes."
"Good. The photographers will be everywhere."
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because after eleven years, my husband still believed the greatest danger to his evening was an unflattering photograph.
He loosened his tie.
"Sienna from Aster Lane will be there. She's done extraordinary work for the foundation."
Grace's pencil stopped moving.
I placed a hand over hers beneath the table.
"How nice," I said.
Derek smiled.
"Try to be welcoming. She's important to our future."
I looked directly at him.
"Whose future?"
He frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He shrugged and headed upstairs.
Grace waited until his footsteps faded.
Then whispered, "Mom?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Are we going to be okay?"
I pulled her close.
"We're going to have some difficult days."
She looked frightened.
"But we'll get through them together."
She nodded.
Then asked, "Can I still love Dad?"
My heart broke.
"Of course you can."
"Even if he did something bad?"
"Yes."
I brushed her hair from her face.
"Love isn't something you have to earn by taking sides."
She hugged me.
And I decided that whatever happened at the gala, my daughter would never be asked to carry the burden of exposing her father.
May you like
That was my responsibility.
Not hers.
