Chapter 5 - The Dinner No One Remembered
I sat in Veronica's parked car until I could breathe normally.
Arthur's statement frightened me, but fear was not evidence that anyone meant to harm me.
Veronica reminded me of that before we spoke to the police about the stolen card, the forged authorization, and the suspicious records inquiry.
We presented facts and preserved documents.
We did not make allegations we could not support.
Back at the office, Daniel found a fresh clue.
The forged authorization had been uploaded from a copier in our executive suite.
Only six people had access to that copier after hours.
One of them was my chief financial officer, Martin Hale.
Martin had worked for me for eleven years.
He had attended my grandfather's funeral.
He had helped me rebuild after our largest client collapsed.
I wanted to reject the implication immediately.
Instead, I asked Evelyn to schedule a confidential meeting.
Martin arrived carrying a paper cup of coffee and an expression of injured concern.
"Rebecca, I hear there's a board issue."
"There is."
"Mauro said he was trying to help."
"How?"
Martin avoided my eyes.
"He believes you may be exhausted."
"Does he?"
"Maybe the company needs a temporary transition."
I placed a copy of the forged authorization between us.
"Have you seen this?"
His hand stopped halfway to the coffee cup.
"Where did you get that?"
"Answer the question."
"Someone showed me a draft."
"Who?"
"Mauro."
I felt the old instinct to shout and forced myself to remain still.
"Did you know the signature was not mine?"
Martin swallowed.
"I suspected."
Veronica leaned forward.
"Do you understand how serious that admission is?"
He stared at the document.
"I never meant for any of this to go so far."
"How far has it gone?" I asked.
He began with a dinner in a private room at a restaurant on Rush Street.
Mauro had introduced him to Adrian Kessler.
Adrian offered a consulting contract worth more than Martin's annual salary.
All Martin had to do was produce a set of documents suggesting I had violated governance rules.
"Did you accept?"
He shook his head, then nodded.
"I signed something."
My stomach dropped.
"Where is the agreement?"
"I don't have my copy."
Veronica asked whether he would preserve his communications and speak through independent counsel.
He agreed.
As he rose, he said something that made me follow him to the doorway.
"You should check the audit folder from last December."
"Why?"
"Because the numbers Mauro wanted me to change weren't from your accounts."
"Whose accounts were they?"
Martin looked back at the conference room.
"The charity your husband runs in your name."
I had never agreed to have a charity in my name.
The foundation was called the Hartwell Family Initiative.
Its website displayed a photograph of me at a hospital fundraiser, cropped so it looked as though I was standing beneath its logo.
I had never approved the organization.
I had never attended one of its meetings.
And according to its public materials, I was its honorary chair.
Veronica instructed our team to obtain the organization's public filings and request its records through proper channels.
The filings listed Mauro as executive director, Patricia as treasurer, and Jamie as program coordinator.
It was the first time I had seen all three of their names on a document that did not include a restaurant reservation.
"Is there anything illegal about a family charity?" I asked.
"Not by itself," Veronica said.
"What about using my photograph?"
"That's a separate issue. We'll evaluate the representations they made and what consent they had."
The financial statements raised more questions than answers.
The foundation reported substantial donations, expensive travel, and surprisingly little direct spending on its stated programs.
Some donors were vendors that contracted with my company.
I recognized three names.
One was a longtime supplier who had recently lost a competitive bid.
Another was a real-estate developer whose project I had declined to finance.
The third was Blackridge Capital's affiliated consulting firm.
I stared at the figures.
"They used my reputation to collect money."
"We have reason to investigate that possibility," Veronica said.
"But we still need the underlying records."
My phone rang before I could respond.
It was Mauro.
"Are you done with your tantrum?"
I switched on the call recording notice available on my phone and told him the conversation might be recorded.
He scoffed.
"Record whatever you want. You're still my wife."
"For now."
"I heard you boxed up my things."
"They're safe in storage. Your attorney can arrange collection."
"My attorney? You think I need an attorney to enter my own home?"
"The estate belongs to the trust."
He laughed so loudly I had to move the phone away.
"You always loved hiding behind Grandpa's paperwork."
"Then you won't mind letting the court read it."
His tone changed.
"The court will read plenty about you."
"Such as?"
"Ask your precious employees where the missing money went."
"Which money, Mauro?"
There was a pause.
"You know exactly what I mean."
He hung up.
That evening, a reporter emailed me a request for comment on allegations of financial misconduct at Hartwell Strategies.
Attached was a leaked spreadsheet showing transfers to a nonprofit foundation.
Every transfer appeared to carry my approval.
Each signature was mine in appearance only.
Then I noticed the spreadsheet's final line.
One hundred and eighty thousand dollars had been authorized that morning.
May you like
The money was headed out of the country.
