Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO CLEANED MY OFFICES
“Get Celeste away from my daughter.”
I spoke so quietly that Elena barely heard me.
Vincent, standing outside the sitting room, answered through my earpiece.
“Understood, sir.”
Through the window, I watched him walk toward the garden.
Celeste had crouched beside Nova's wheelchair. She was smiling, but I knew that smile. I had seen her use it in board meetings when she wanted someone to agree with a decision they hadn't been allowed to make.
Nova was listening politely.
Then Sky returned from the dessert table.
Whatever Celeste had been saying, my daughter immediately lost interest.
She turned toward her friend, her face brightening.
Vincent approached and spoke to Celeste.
She stood, glanced toward the house, and walked away.
Only then did I breathe normally.
Elena was watching me.
“You really didn't know, did you?”
“Know what?”
“That someone was trying to keep those kids away.”
“No.”
She looked down at her hands.
“I thought rich people just knew everything that happened around them.”
“So did I.”
The admission surprised us both.
For years, I had mistaken information for understanding. I received reports about my businesses, schedules about Nova's care, and financial summaries from my foundation.
I knew how much our annual charity gala raised.
I knew what our buildings were worth.
But I hadn't known who made my daughter laugh at science club.
And apparently, I hadn't known that millions of dollars connected to her name were moving through accounts I had never authorized.
“Tell me about your job,” I said.
Elena looked confused.
“My job?”
“At the foundation.”
“I clean offices. Empty trash cans. Mop floors. Sometimes I help set up conference rooms.”
“How long?”
“Almost three years.”
“Has Celeste ever spoken to you?”
Elena gave a bitter little smile.
“Not usually.”
“What do you mean?”
“She talks around us. Not to us.”
I waited.
“Last month, she came into a conference room while I was cleaning. She was discussing the Harbor House project with another executive. When she noticed me, she asked why the cleaning crew was allowed upstairs during sensitive meetings.”
“What happened?”
“My supervisor moved our shift.”
“Did you complain?”
“Mr. Hawthorne, people in my position don't always get to complain and keep their jobs.”
I had no answer to that.
Elena opened another photograph.
“This was on the same printer tray.”
The page was an internal summary of the Harbor House Access Project.
Three renovation phases were marked complete.
Accessible entrances.
Elevator modernization.
Wheelchair-friendly science classrooms.
Each project had a payment authorization beside it.
But Elena shook her head.
“Sky and Nova went there with their astronomy group last month. Sky told me the accessible entrance was still boarded up.”
I studied the report.
“Maybe there was a delay.”
“Maybe.”
She paused.
“But if the work wasn't done, why does the report say it was paid for?”
That was the question I couldn't escape.
I called Maya Bennett, my longtime attorney.
Maya wasn't the kind of lawyer who agreed with me merely because I paid her.
She had represented my companies for nine years and once told me that my greatest business weakness was assuming anyone who sounded confident must be competent.
“Maya, I may have a serious foundation problem.”
“How serious?”
“Potential misuse of restricted charitable funds. Possibly forged authorizations.”
She went quiet.
“Have you preserved the documents?”
“Ruth is working on it.”
“Good. Don't conduct your own interrogation. We need an independent forensic review, and if the money has been diverted, we need to inform the proper authorities.”
I looked at Elena.
“What about the employee who brought this to my attention?”
“Is she willing to speak to an investigator?”
I covered the phone.
“Elena, would you be willing to tell an independent investigator what you've told me?”
She swallowed.
“Would I lose my job?”
“I can't promise what your employer will do,” I said. “But we can arrange legal advice before you decide anything.”
She looked relieved that I hadn't pretended otherwise.
“Yes,” she said. “If it helps the children.”
I repeated her answer to Maya.
“Then handle this carefully,” Maya said. “And Grant, remember something.”
“What?”
“The truth won't necessarily make you look innocent.”
I stared at the financial summary.
“I know.”
When Elena returned to the garden, Sky ran toward her.
“Mom, look!”
She pointed toward Nova.
Nova held the handmade constellation above her head.
“We're going to hang it in my bedroom!”
Elena smiled.
“That's wonderful, honey.”
Sky suddenly noticed the worry on her mother's face.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Elena crouched beside her.
“You scared me by leaving without permission.”
“I know.”
“But you also tried to help somebody who was hurting.”
Sky looked at Nova.
“She would have done it for me.”
Nova nodded immediately.
“Of course I would.”
Their certainty embarrassed me.
Adults needed contracts, security reviews, and permission from people with impressive titles.
These two children needed only a reason to care.
As the party ended, I arranged for Elena and Sky to return home together in a car they could accept or decline. Elena accepted because the buses were running late.
Before leaving, Sky approached me.
“Mr. Hawthorne?”
“Yes?”
“Are you mad because I wrote on the bag?”
I knelt beside her.
“No.”
“Even though it was about your people?”
I thought carefully.
“Especially because it was about my people.”
She considered that.
“Good.”
Then she gave me a solemn nod.
“Nova says you can fix almost anything.”
A painful smile crossed my face.
“She gives me too much credit.”
Sky shook her head.
“She says the important part is that you try.”
After they left, I stood in the garden until the last golden balloon had been taken down.
Nova had gone upstairs with June.
Vincent approached.
“Sir, Ruth asked us to preserve the security recordings from the foundation loading dock.”
“Why?”
“She found an unusual access request.”
“What kind?”
“Someone tried to disable the overnight cameras.”
I turned toward him.
“When?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
My phone rang almost immediately.
It was Ruth.
“Grant, I need you to look at the footage I'm sending you.”
The video opened on my screen.
It showed the rear entrance of our downtown foundation building.
A dark delivery van was parked beside the loading dock.
Two people were carrying sealed document boxes out of the building.
One was a young man I recognized from Celeste's office.
The other person wore a long camel-colored coat.
The figure turned slightly toward the camera.
And I saw a familiar gold bracelet.
Celeste.
I watched her place the final box inside the van.
Then the driver closed the rear doors.
May you like
Ruth's voice came through my phone.
“Grant, whatever was in those boxes, someone is trying very hard to make sure we never find it.”
