Chapter 5 - THE FOUNDATION THAT DIDN'T HELP ANYONE
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Rebecca photographed the document and placed it back in Daniel's drawer.
She explained that the authorization appeared unusually broad and might have been obtained through misleading representations.
Daniel looked sick.
“I thought she was helping.”
I squeezed his hand.
“She wanted you to think that.”
He looked at my injured shoulder.
“Anna, I'm sorry.”
“Don't.”
My voice cracked.
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
Rebecca asked whether Daniel remembered anything else.
He thought for a moment.
“She mentioned a charity.”
“What charity?”
“The Bellini Hope Foundation.”
Rebecca's expression changed.
“Did she say why?”
“She said the foundation helped injured workers and their families.”
I looked at her.
“Does it?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“That's what we're going to find out.”
The Bellini Hope Foundation had existed for six years.
Its website showed photographs of smiling children, hospital corridors, scholarship recipients, and expensive fundraising dinners.
Vanessa appeared in nearly every picture.
She wore designer clothes and stood beside oversized donation checks.
The foundation claimed to support rehabilitation programs and emergency medical assistance.
But Rebecca discovered troubling inconsistencies.
Several listed programs no longer existed.
Some beneficiary organizations reported receiving much less money than the foundation publicly claimed.
And one of its major donors was a company controlled by Charles Whitmore.
Luca joined us the next morning at Rebecca's office.
I hadn't slept.
My shoulder was strapped, and Dr. Harris had confirmed a serious sprain without a fracture. I would need rest and physical therapy.
Luca looked at the medical report.
Then at me.
“Anna, you'll be paid while you recover.”
I stared.
“I don't have enough sick days.”
“Then the company will review its obligations and make sure you receive the leave and compensation you're entitled to. Rebecca can explain the process.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
He looked uncomfortable.
As though gratitude was the last thing he wanted.
Rebecca placed several documents on the conference table.
“The foundation's financial records suggest possible misuse of charitable funds.”
Luca frowned.
“By Vanessa?”
“Potentially. We need independent forensic accountants and regulatory review before reaching conclusions.”
Gabriel entered carrying another file.
“We found the hospital connection.”
Luca looked up.
“What hospital?”
“St. Catherine's Medical Center.”
Rebecca frowned.
“That's where Charles Whitmore's body was supposedly taken after the crash.”
Gabriel nodded.
“And where Vanessa's foundation made a substantial donation last month.”
I felt cold.
Rebecca opened the file.
The donation had funded a new medical records system.
A records system managed by a company with ties to Whitmore.
Luca stared at the paperwork.
“So Charles's death, Vanessa's foundation, and the trust agreement all lead back to the same people.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Yes.”
He looked toward the window.
“And Anna's brother?”
Rebecca folded her hands.
“Possibly a way to gather leverage against a witness. We shouldn't assume more until the evidence supports it.”
I sat quietly.
For months, I'd believed my biggest problem was money.
Now I understood that someone had been studying my life.
My debts.
My brother.
My fear of unemployment.
And they had chosen those weaknesses because they thought I would never fight back.
Luca turned toward me.
“Anna, I need to ask something.”
I looked up.
“Did Vanessa ever ask you to sign anything?”
I shook my head.
Then stopped.
There had been a form.
Three weeks earlier.
A routine-looking confidentiality agreement Vanessa insisted every member of the household staff sign before the wedding.
I had signed it without reading every page.
I felt my stomach drop.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Rebecca leaned forward.
“What did you sign?”
I looked at Luca.
“A confidentiality agreement.”
He frowned.
“I never authorized one.”
Rebecca's expression darkened.
“Then we need a copy.”
I swallowed.
Because I remembered something else.
Vanessa had taken my fingerprints.
She said it was for the new biometric staff-access system.
But the mansion didn't have biometric locks.
Not on the servants' entrance.
Not anywhere I'd seen.
May you like
And suddenly, I wondered what else she had taken from me.
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