Chapter 3 - What Fay Was Supposed to Find
Conrad read the message twice.
Then he looked at Fay.
“You're not going.”
Fay raised an eyebrow.
“You've known me eight months and somehow still think that's a useful sentence.”
“Someone stole hundreds of thousands of dollars and photographed you without your knowledge.”
“Which is exactly why I want answers.”
“You can want them from here.”
“Conrad.”
“No.”
Fay folded her arms.
Elena and Lydia exchanged a glance.
“Would both of you stop acting married for thirty seconds?” Lydia said. “The message may be bait.”
“We are married,” Fay replied.
“I know. That's why this is exhausting.”
Conrad ignored her.
The shelter was one of Elena's foundation partners. Fay had begun volunteering there shortly after their wedding.
If Celeste had used foundation accounts, the shelter might contain records she feared Fay had discovered.
But Fay had discovered nothing.
At least, nothing she remembered.
Then she did.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Last Tuesday, Marisol asked me to help sort donation receipts.”
Marisol Vega managed the shelter.
“She couldn't reconcile three deliveries,” Fay continued. “Invoices said they received forty winter coats. They got twenty-six.”
Elena leaned forward.
“What else?”
“Kitchen equipment. The invoice showed six commercial refrigerators. They received four.”
Conrad understood.
“Inflated invoices.”
“And somebody pocketed the difference,” Lydia said.
Fay nodded.
“I told Marisol I'd look at the paperwork again tomorrow.”
The room went quiet.
That explained the photograph.
Someone knew Fay was looking.
Conrad's security team spent the night tracing accounts.
Fay slept badly.
At seven the next morning, she found Conrad in the kitchen.
He had removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves to the elbows. Coffee sat untouched beside him.
Six photographs were spread across the table.
The gowns.
Someone had located photographs from each online catalog.
Fay stopped.
“What are you doing?”
“Learning.”
“About dresses?”
“Apparently I require remedial education.”
She almost smiled.
Conrad pointed to the red gown.
“This was produced only up to a size ten.”
“Yes.”
“This designer's extended-size collection uses different construction.”
Fay stared at him.
“You stayed awake researching plus-size eveningwear?”
“I also learned that simply enlarging a straight-size pattern produces terrible results.”
She sat opposite him.
“You look traumatized.”
“Fashion is needlessly complicated.”
“Welcome to being a woman.”
He finally smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“I owe you something.”
“You already apologized.”
“Not enough.”
“Conrad—”
“I thought giving expensive things meant I was being generous.”
Fay listened.
“I never asked whether they were things you wanted. Worse, when you returned them, I made your decision about me.”
“That sounds suspiciously self-aware.”
“I dislike it.”
She laughed.
He reached across the table.
Not touching her.
Offering his hand.
Fay looked at it.
Then placed hers inside.
“I never wanted you to change,” he said.
“I believe you.”
The words visibly relieved him.
“But,” she added, “believing you now doesn't erase how those dresses made me feel.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
At ten, they went to the shelter.
Not alone.
Fay technically obeyed the message by entering alone.
Conrad remained in a vehicle two blocks away with security personnel and the police financial-crimes liaison Elena had contacted.
Fay hated the arrangement.
Conrad hated it more.
Marisol met Fay at the side entrance.
“You got a message too?” Fay asked.
Marisol nodded.
They entered the accounting room.
Nothing looked disturbed.
On the desk was a red folder.
Fay opened it.
Invoices.
Dozens.
The same vendor appeared repeatedly:
Haven Supply Cooperative.
Fay frowned.
“I've never heard of them.”
“They became an approved vendor six months ago,” Marisol said.
“Who approved them?”
Marisol searched.
Then stopped.
“Celeste Warren.”
Inside the folder was a flash drive.
Fay inserted it into the office computer.
A spreadsheet appeared.
Hundreds of transactions.
Not $417,000.
Over three years, nearly $2.8 million had been diverted through false vendors and manipulated refunds.
Fay stared.
Then another file appeared.
A letter.
FAY—
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, I RAN OUT OF TIME.
Fay's pulse accelerated.
The letter was from Celeste.
But it wasn't a confession.
It was a warning.
Celeste claimed she had discovered the scheme only six months earlier.
Someone else had created it.
Someone inside the Harwick charitable network.
She had manipulated Fay's gown purchases because she needed transactions she personally controlled to trace the destination account.
Fay sat back.
“That makes no sense.”
Marisol read over her shoulder.
Celeste admitted changing the gown orders.
She knew it was cruel.
She wrote that she needed repeated refunds without alerting Conrad's finance department.
Fay's anger returned.
Celeste had used her humiliation as an investigative tool.
No noble intention excused that.
Then she read the final paragraph.
THE PERSON TAKING THE MONEY KNOWS I FOUND THEM.
I MADE COPIES.
I DON'T KNOW WHO I CAN TRUST.
BUT FAY NOTICES PEOPLE EVERYONE ELSE IGNORES.
THAT IS WHY I'M LEAVING THIS WITH HER.
Fay swallowed.
A noise came from the hallway.
Marisol froze.
“Did you lock the front door?”
“Yes.”
Another sound.
Footsteps.
Fay reached for her phone.
Before she could call Conrad, the office door opened.
Celeste stood there.
Alive.
Exhausted.
Terrified.
“Close the computer,” she said.
Fay rose.
“You have ten seconds before my husband turns this building upside down.”
“I know.”
“You humiliated me.”
“I know.”
“You stole money.”
“No.”
“Your name is on everything.”
“Because somebody wanted it there.”
Marisol moved toward the hallway.
Celeste blocked her.
“Please. Listen first.”
Fay's phone buzzed.
Conrad.
She declined the call.
Celeste stared at her.
“He'll come in.”
“Then talk fast.”
Celeste reached inside her coat.
She removed a small black accounting ledger.
“The fake vendor existed before I worked for Conrad.”
Fay stared at it.
“Who created it?”
“I didn't know until yesterday.”
“Who?”
Celeste placed the ledger on the desk.
“Someone Conrad trusts more than almost anyone.”
Fay opened it.
Old payments.
Dates.
Initials.
Then she reached the first page.
The original authorization signature was clearly visible.
Fay knew the name.
She had eaten dinner with this person.
Trusted this person.
Defended this person.
Her phone rang again.
Conrad.
At the same moment, the shelter's front door opened.
A familiar voice called from the hallway.
“Fay?”
Celeste's face went white.
She whispered, “Don't let them see that ledger.”
The footsteps came closer.
May you like
Fay looked at the signature one more time.
Then the office door began to open.
