Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN ON THE FOUNDATION WEBSITE
By eight the next morning, Hannah had three missed calls from Connor.
Seven from Vivien.
Two from Patrick Walsh, Connor’s father.
And one text from Luca.
I sent the name of an attorney with no business relationship to me or the Walsh family. Use her or don't. Do not sign anything today.
No heart.
No dramatic promise.
No offer to “handle everything.”
Hannah stared at the message.
Then searched the attorney.
Rachel Kim, nonprofit and family-law litigation.
Independent office.
No Belandi companies among listed clients.
Hannah called.
By ten, she was sitting in Rachel’s conference room still wearing borrowed clothes from her aunt.
Rachel was forty-six, compact, direct, and unimpressed by wedding catastrophe.
“First issue.”
She folded her hands.
“Do you want to remain married?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Hannah blinked.
“Good?”
“Not emotionally.”
“Legally, clarity helps.”
Rachel explained options without promising a cinematic annulment.
The marriage existed.
The quickest clean exit would depend on filing posture, disclosures, and whether Connor contested.
“We deal with that separately from the charity.”
“Why?”
“Because your husband betraying you does not automatically prove financial fraud.”
Hannah nodded.
Facts.
Good.
Then Rachel reviewed the foundation papers Luca had provided.
Hannah’s face appeared on fundraising brochures.
A photograph of her reading to fourth graders.
Quote:
“Every child deserves the chance to learn without money deciding the size of their future.” – Hannah Miller Walsh, Education Program Chair
She stared.
“I never said that.”
“It sounds like something you might say.”
“That's worse.”
Exactly.
Someone had constructed a version of Hannah believable enough to raise money.
Rachel found meeting minutes showing Hannah “present” at two board meetings held while she had been teaching.
A grant approval supposedly signed by her on a Tuesday at 10:14 a.m.
Hannah pulled up her school calendar.
“I was administering state reading assessments.”
“Can anyone verify?”
“Thirty-one seventh graders and a proctor.”
“Excellent.”
Hannah almost laughed.
Children as alibi.
The financial pattern became clearer over the next week.
Walsh Youth Futures had received approximately $4.2 million in donations over three years.
Some money went where promised.
Real scholarships.
Real after-school programs.
Enough legitimacy to protect the image.
But nearly $1.1 million had flowed through “community engagement,” “donor hospitality,” and “program launch” vendors.
Several vendors also worked Walsh family weddings, restaurants, private clubs, and real-estate events.
One company had billed the foundation:
$84,000 – EDUCATION LEADERSHIP DINNER
The date?
Hannah and Connor’s engagement party.
Another:
$127,500 – YOUTH FUTURES DONOR EXPERIENCE
It corresponded almost exactly to floral, lighting, and venue deposits for a Walsh corporate gala.
Then Hannah found Harborstone.
Her wedding.
Not the entire reception.
But $38,600 in invoices for “youth donor cultivation décor” matched the florist’s supplemental invoice.
Hannah stared until the numbers stopped meaning anything.
“I paid that florist.”
Rachel nodded.
“You paid your contracted amount.”
“The foundation appears to have paid additional invoices submitted under separate descriptions.”
“So the flowers were billed twice?”
“Possibly.”
“To me and to a children's charity?”
“Possibly.”
Hannah stood and walked to the window.
Below them, Providence traffic moved.
People buying coffee.
Going to work.
Living lives where their wedding flowers were not part of a forensic audit.
“Did Connor know?”
“We don't know yet.”
“I need to know.”
“We will.”
Rachel’s voice remained steady.
“But you don't get the answer faster by choosing one before the records do.”
Hannah hated that.
She needed someone to blame.
Connor was convenient.
Connor was also already guilty of enough.
Still, guilt in one category did not prove another.
She went home to the apartment she and Connor had shared.
He was there.
Sober.
Unshaven.
Sitting at the kitchen table.
“Hannah.”
She stayed near the door.
“My aunt is downstairs.”
His face tightened.
“You think I'm going to hurt you?”
“No.”
“I think I don't know you.”
That hurt him.
Good.
He stood.
“I was drunk.”
“You keep saying that as though alcohol invented the sentences.”
“I was angry.”
“At me?”
“At everything.”
“What does that mean?”
Connor covered his face.
“My father.”
“The foundation.”
“The merger.”
“Your school.”
She stared.
“My school?”
He froze.
There.
Wrong answer.
“What about my school?”
“Nothing.”
“Connor.”
He looked away.
Hannah’s heart began pounding.
“Did your family use my name because I'm a teacher?”
Silence.
“Did you know?”
“I knew Mom wanted you involved.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“I knew the foundation liked having someone credible.”
Credible.
The word made her stomach turn.
“Someone plain?”
“No.”
“Safe?”
“Hannah—”
“Respectable?”
He closed his eyes.
She whispered:
“That was the real reason, wasn't it?”
“No.”
“Part of it?”
Silence.
Enough.
Hannah felt something detach inside her.
Not heartbreak.
Something cleaner.
Recognition.
Connor spoke quickly.
“I loved you.”
“Did?”
“I do.”
“Then why did you say those things?”
He sat.
For the first time, shame reached his face.
“Because my father spent all week telling me I was useless.”
“Because the audit was coming.”
“Because Luca Belandi was there and Dad kept talking about how men like him take what they want.”
“And I was drunk.”
“So you humiliated me?”
“I wanted somebody else to feel small.”
The honesty stopped her.
Connor looked sick.
“I know how disgusting that sounds.”
“It sounds accurate.”
He nodded.
Then:
“I didn't forge your signature.”
Hannah became still.
“You know about that?”
“Mom called.”
Of course.
“Did you know they were using it?”
“No.”
“Did you know my name was on financial papers?”
“I knew you were listed as education chair.”
“Without telling me that meant board responsibility?”
“I didn't think—”
“No.”
She laughed softly.
“You didn't.”
Then she looked around their kitchen.
Wedding gifts stacked unopened.
A vase full of dying white roses.
A life that had lasted less than one day after the ceremony.
“I’m filing.”
Connor’s eyes filled.
“For divorce?”
“Yes.”
“Hannah.”
“No.”
He started forward.
She raised one hand.
He stopped.
Good.
“I don't know what you did financially yet.”
“But I know what you did to me.”
“That part does not require an audit.”
She left.
Connor did not follow.
May you like
That was the first decent thing he had done since the reception.
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