Page 26 of Artifice (Pros and Cons Mysteries #4)
TWELVE YEARS AGO
O live sat at the fold-out table in the school gymnasium, carefully organizing pledge cards into neat stacks.
As the newest member of the student fundraising committee, she’d been tasked with the responsibility of recording donation information from the annual phonathon.
“You’re doing such a careful job,” Mrs. Renwick, the faculty advisor, said as she passed by and observed Olive a moment. “Most students just toss everything in a pile for me to sort through later.”
Olive smiled. “I like organizing things.”
Her words were true, but . . . it was also what her father had suggested when he’d encouraged her to volunteer for the committee. Make a good impression. Go above and beyond. This will be a great experience for you. And community service looks good on school records.
She couldn’t argue with his words.
But she hadn’t forgotten about what happened with Zoe’s grandmother either. The person behind the robbery hadn’t been found yet.
Olive couldn’t help but wonder if it was her father.
She hated the thought. She hated herself for even thinking the thought.
But how could she not?
She frowned and continued organizing the cards.
The fundraising phonathon had been more successful than anyone expected. Parents and local businesses had pledged more than thirty thousand dollars for new band instruments and athletic equipment.
Olive recorded each pledge carefully, noting not just the amount promised but also payment methods, contact information, and any specific allocation requests.
“Mr. Pryor really wants his thousand dollars to go specifically to new baseball uniforms,” Olive told Mrs. Renwick as she handed over the completed spreadsheet at the end of the day. “And Mrs. Daniels said her husband’s company will match whatever we raise for the band, up to five thousand.”
“This is wonderful work, Olive.” Mrs. Renwick’s eyes widened as she scanned the detailed notes. “Would you mind if I made a copy for you to take home? Your father mentioned he has experience with nonprofit fundraising, and I’d love to get his thoughts on how we might strategize the next phase.”
Olive’s breath caught, but she tried not to show her apprehension.
Her father wouldn’t use this information for anything illegal . . . right? What could he even do with this information?
Nothing. They were just pledges. There wasn’t banking information on the cards or anything. That was all done online.
“Of course,” Olive agreed, realizing Mrs. Renwick was waiting for her response.
But a bad feeling nagged at the back of her mind.
That evening, she handed the information over to her father.
He spent hours reviewing the spreadsheet and asking questions about various donors. “This Mr. Pryor . . . he seems very invested in the baseball program. Did he mention if his son plays?”
“Star pitcher,” Olive confirmed. “He’s hoping for a college scholarship.”
Her father nodded thoughtfully. “And the Daniels family—corporate matching through the husband’s company. Did Mrs. Daniels mention what business they’re in?”
“She said her husband runs distribution for some pharmaceutical company. They just moved into that big new development on River Shoals.”
Over the next two weeks, her father attended several school events. Olive watched him as he introduced himself to many of the parents on Olive’s donor list.
He seemed particularly interested in connecting with Mr. Pryor and Mr. Daniels, mentioning a “special investment opportunity” limited to a select group.
Olive didn’t like the sound of that. When she’d tried to talk to her father about it, he’d dismissed her.
She didn’t dare mention her fears to her mother. Her mother had been crying entirely too much lately, and Olive didn’t want to put any more pressure on her. Dad said it was post-partum depression and that Mom just needed time.
But the twins were seven. Did postpartum last that long?
Olive didn’t know.
One day at school, Olive overheard Mrs. Renwick talking to another teacher in whispered tones.
“Mr. Pryor said he’s overextended right now, and the Daniels family is suddenly talking about relocating. It’s the strangest thing—these were our most enthusiastic supporters just a few weeks ago.”
Tension wound through Olive’s spine.
Why would Mr. Pryor and Mr. Daniels withdraw their pledges? It didn’t make sense.
She hoped everything would work out, however. Still, why did she have a nagging feeling that there was more to this than she wanted to admit?
Three days later, Olive went into her father’s office to grab some paperclips for an assignment she was working on.
Instead, she found a notepad with her spreadsheet information in her father’s office, names highlighted and annotated with notes: “Pryor—75K initial investment” and “Daniels—leveraged 401K for 125K buy-in.”
Her heart beat harder in her ears. No . . . this couldn’t be what she assumed.
But she knew it was.
Her father had done something. He was somehow responsible for those two families withdrawing their pledges.
Just like he’d had something to do with the robbery at Zoe’s grandma’s house.
Olive confronted him when he got home that evening. She followed him into his office and showed him the notepad.
He’d merely shrugged. “I made some investment proposals to people I met through school events. Nothing unusual about that.”
“But they pulled their donations to the school after investing with you.”
“Their financial priorities changed.” He grabbed some bills that had come in the mail and began flipping through them as if this were a casual conversation. “That happens.”
“Did you know it would happen when you asked me to join the fundraising committee?” Olive held her breath as she waited for her father’s response.
Please say no. Please say no. Say you had nothing to do with this.
Her father’s expression softened slightly as he looked away from his desk and at her. “Ollie, I never asked you to do anything wrong. You volunteered, you did good work, and the school appreciated it. Everything else is just . . . business.”
Just business? Was that how adulting worked?
If so, Olive never wanted to be an adult.