Chapter 7: The Address Behind the Numbers
Mara entered the address from her grandmother’s notice into the library computer. She kept one hand on the paper while the other worked the keys.
“Search by the parcel number,” she said. “The address might have changed.”
I opened Claire’s notebook to the page with the initials. Sophie sat between us, watching the screen as if the right answer might appear if she didn’t blink.
The public property record loaded slowly. Mara scanned the first page, then the next.
“There,” she said.
The building’s old address appeared beside a sale date. The buyer was listed as C.S.H. Urban Holdings LLC.
Mara didn’t touch the screen. Her eyes stayed on the name.
“Same initials,” Sophie said.
“Same initials,” I agreed. “That’s all we know so far.”
Mara gave me a brief, approving look. She had already told us the numbers didn’t prove what happened. I wouldn’t turn a match into a verdict just because I wanted one.
She checked the sale date against Claire’s notes. The purchase came after the scholarship awards began shrinking, but that didn’t tell us where the money had gone. It didn’t even establish that the company and the fund were connected.
Still, there it was: the same three letters at the top of Claire’s page and on the filing for the building Mara had lost.
Mara drew the folded notice closer. The creases had softened with handling. She flattened them with her fingertips, careful not to tear the paper.
“My grandmother kept getting new charges,” she said. “A fee for this, a fee for that. She went to the office twice and asked them to explain.”
“What did they tell her?” I asked.
“That the building had new management. That we were behind.” Mara’s voice tightened. “She said we weren’t. She had receipts.”
Sophie leaned toward her.
“Did they look at them?”
Mara paused.
“They looked at them.”
The answer left no room for the comforting version.
I searched the public documents for the redevelopment proposal. I had read the board materials before Grant’s warning, but only the sections that mattered to my firm. I found the site list and turned the screen slightly so Mara could see.
Her building’s parcel number was there.
For a moment, the library seemed to narrow around the table. The vent clicked overhead. A cart rolled along the far aisle, its wheels whispering over the carpet.
“This property is part of the proposal,” I said.
Mara studied the page. She didn’t look surprised. That was worse.
“So the company bought it,” she said, “and now the school wants to include it in the redevelopment.”
“The board is voting on the proposal Friday.”
“And the scholarship fund is tied to it.”
“Yes.”
I looked down at Claire’s handwriting. I had treated those notes as one more matter someone else could explain later. I had signed papers without reading them closely, let Grant handle the details, and called that trust. Claire had looked harder. Mara’s grandmother had asked questions. I had been absent in a way that required no excuse, only a desk and a name at the bottom of a page.
Mara slid the notice back into her backpack.
“I’m not saying this proves they took anything from the scholarship fund,” she said.
“I know.”
“Or that the company charged us wrongly.”
“I know.”
She met my eyes, testing whether I meant it.
I kept my hands away from her papers. “But the dates and the address are worth following.”
Mara looked again at the filing. “Then follow them.”
My phone vibrated against the table.
Howard Bell’s name lit the screen. He was the school treasurer, a man I had seen at board meetings, usually carrying a leather folder and speaking only when asked. His message held six words:
I need to tell you something. Alone.
I showed Mara the screen.
“Do you know him?” she asked.
“I know who he is.”
“Is he part of this?”
“I don’t know.”
She closed the backpack. “Then don’t decide he’s safe because you know his title.”
“I won’t.”
Howard called before I could answer. He asked me to meet him in a small study room near the library entrance. He sounded frightened enough that I agreed, but I didn’t take Sophie and Mara out of sight. They chose a table in the open reading area, close to the glass wall.
“I’ll be right there,” I told Sophie.
She glanced at Mara before answering.
“Okay.”
Howard waited inside the study room with his coat still on. He looked older than he had at the last board meeting. His fingers worried the edge of a folder he hadn’t opened.
“You’re meeting with Mara Reyes,” he said.
“She’s checking public records.”
“That’s not what Grant thinks.”
I felt my shoulders draw tight. “What does Grant think?”
Howard glanced through the glass toward the library tables. He couldn’t see Mara’s face from where he stood, but he could see the patched backpack beside her chair.
“I processed transfers,” he said. “From the scholarship accounts.”
The words arrived quietly. They hit hard anyway.
“At whose direction?”
“Grant’s.”
“Why?”
“He said the movements were temporary. That money was being shifted while accounts were reconciled. He said it would be returned.”
“And you believed him?”
Howard’s mouth tightened.
“I wanted to believe him.”
That was not the same answer.
“How many transfers?”
“I don’t know. Several.”
“You’re the treasurer.”
“I was told they were routine.”
“And you processed them without asking where the money went?”
His eyes dropped to the folder.
“I followed Grant’s instructions. I thought I was keeping things moving until the books were corrected.”
“Were they corrected?”
Howard didn’t answer right away. Through the glass, Mara said something to Sophie. Sophie pointed at the screen. Neither of them looked toward us.
“I didn’t think it would lead here,” Howard said.
“Here being a building tied to the redevelopment?”
His face changed.
“You found the property records.”
“We found a company with the same initials. And the building is on the proposal’s site list.”
Howard looked toward the library entrance. His hand closed around the folder.
“Daniel, I should have spoken sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I told myself Grant knew what he was doing. I told myself the money was only moving for a short time.” His voice lowered. “Then I let that explanation become enough.”
My signed authorization returned to me like an accusation. My name had been there. Whether or not I had understood the packet, I had failed to look.
“Do you have records?” I asked.
Howard’s gaze flicked toward the glass wall again.
“I have some.”
“Then give them to the board.”
“I can’t.” He swallowed. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
May you like
Howard pressed the folder against his chest as though someone might reach through the wall for it.
“Because Grant already knows I spoke to you.”
