Chapter 2 - THE CHARITY THAT FORGOT THE CHILDREN
At 4:18 the next morning, I learned that the Moretti Children's Relief Foundation had raised eleven million dollars in eighteen months.
I also learned that fewer than six hundred thousand dollars had reached the families it was supposed to help.
Lorenzo didn't tell me immediately.
He was standing outside Toby's hospital room, listening to Antonio read figures from a tablet.
I was returning from the vending machines when I heard him say, “Where's the rest?”
Antonio hesitated.
“Administrative expenses. Consulting contracts. Event production. Outside management.”
“Eleven million dollars?”
“That's what the preliminary statements indicate.”
Lorenzo's face hardened.
“Get the original records.”
I stopped walking.
He turned and noticed me.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, “Was tonight's gala really for sick children?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you look like somebody stole from them?”
His expression changed.
“Because I think somebody did.”
Toby was discharged later that morning with a treatment plan, prescriptions, and instructions for follow-up care.
The hospital social worker helped us identify medication assistance options. Lorenzo offered to arrange transportation home, which I accepted only after he promised not to turn it into a parade of security vehicles.
Our apartment was on the third floor of an aging brick building in Bridgeport.
The hallway smelled of laundry detergent and old paint.
Our refrigerator made a noise like an exhausted lawn mower.
And the living room doubled as Toby's bedroom because we couldn't afford anything larger.
Lorenzo stood in the doorway, looking entirely out of place in his expensive suit.
Toby grinned.
“Welcome to our palace.”
“Toby,” I warned.
Lorenzo smiled.
“Better hospitality than most palaces I've visited.”
My brother immediately liked him.
That should have worried me.
Instead, it made me smile.
Before leaving, Lorenzo asked if I would meet his mother again.
“She wants to thank you properly.”
“She already thanked me.”
“She wants to do it anyway.”
I considered refusing.
Then remembered Isabella's frightened face beneath the chandeliers.
“Okay.”
He nodded.
“And Sophie?”
“Yes?”
“Someone may contact you about what happened at the gala. Don't sign anything without reading it carefully.”
I frowned.
“Why would anybody contact me?”
Lorenzo's expression turned grim.
“Because you embarrassed a woman who has spent twenty years making sure nobody embarrasses her.”
He was right.
At 6:42 that evening, I received an email from the gala's staffing agency.
YOUR ASSIGNMENT HAS BEEN TERMINATED FOLLOWING A CLIENT COMPLAINT.
I read it three times.
Then my phone rang.
Elaine Porter.
“Sophie,” she said, sounding miserable, “I'm sorry.”
I closed my eyes.
“Beatrice?”
“She threatened to have our contracts canceled.”
I stared at the overdue-rent notice on the kitchen counter.
“Did you defend me?”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
After the call, I sat on the floor and cried.
Toby came out of the bedroom.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He gave me a look.
“You're a terrible liar.”
I laughed weakly.
Then told him.
He sat beside me.
“I'm sorry.”
I shook my head.
“You didn't do anything.”
“I keep costing you money.”
I turned sharply.
“Don't ever say that again.”
His eyes filled.
“You deserve a life, Sophie.”
I pulled him into my arms.
“You're part of my life, idiot.”
At nine that night, someone knocked.
I opened the door to find a woman in a navy suit holding an envelope.
“My name is Rachel Donovan. I'm an attorney representing the Moretti family.”
My stomach dropped.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
She handed me a card.
“Mr. Moretti asked me to explain your options concerning the allegations made against you. You are under no obligation to speak with me.”
I stared.
She continued, “Your employer's decision may raise employment-law questions. An independent lawyer can advise you.”
I looked down at the card.
“Why is he doing this?”
Rachel's expression softened.
“Because he believes you shouldn't lose your livelihood for helping his mother.”
She paused.
“And because someone at the foundation has started asking questions about you.”
A chill moved down my spine.
“What questions?”
Rachel looked toward the hallway.
“Where you live. Who your brother is. Whether you have debts.”
I gripped the doorframe.
“Why?”
“We don't know yet.”
May you like
Then she added something that made my blood run cold.
“The person requesting that information used Senator Vane's office.”
