Page 15

Amelia

“Peter from Freedom House is on line one for you.” Sarah peeks her head into my office. “And I’m going across the street to get a coffee, I need a latte. You want something?”

I look up from my computer screen where I have the bookkeeping software open. “Yes.”

Grabbing my wallet, I pull out cash for her. “A caramel latte, the biggest they have and with an extra shot of espresso.”

“This one’s on me. You got it last week.” She wiggles her fingers and leaves without taking a single bill, calling back to me, “Don’t forget line one!”

“Line one. Right.” I shove the bills back into my wallet and turn my chair to find my phone.

It’s buried beneath pages of bank statements I printed off this morning to get ready for the accountant that should be here soon.

The Freedom House is a halfway house that we’ve worked closely with over the last year.

Some people will leave a full-time recovery facility and opt to room with them until they are back on their feet full time. We work with them to get those people counseling and set up with job skill workshops that will help them get employment easier.

“Hey, Peter. How are you?” Pinning the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I continue shuffling papers around, trying to put them into some sort of recognizable order.

“Hey, Lia. Sorry to bug you, Judy is out for the day, Sarah said, and I have a client I’d like to send over. He’s just joined us this morning and he’s having a bad afternoon. I thought I might be able to get him hooked up with Ramon?”

“Of course, let me just pull up the schedules.”

I brush away the papers lingering on top of my keyboard and wiggle the mouse until the screen comes to life. Just as I’m typing in my password, there’s a soft knock at the door.

Mr. Pederse with his typical stoic expression peeks around the half-open door.

“Come in, I’ll be just a second.” I wave him over to the chair in front of my desk and quickly pull up Ramon’s schedule. “Okay, Peter, Ramon has an opening this afternoon. Just send him over and we’ll get him set up with a caseworker then send him to Ramon.”

“Great. I don’t have transport at the moment, so it’s probably going to be about an hour unless he wants to take the bus.”

“That’s fine. When he gets here, we’ll figure it all out.” Snatching up a pen, I scribble the client’s name on a post-it note and a cell phone number we can reach him at.

After shooting off a message to Ramon that I’ve blocked off time for the new client this afternoon, and another message to one of our newest caseworkers, Jessica, that he’s on his way over, I blow out a loud breath and turn my attention to Mr. Pederse.

“Sorry about that.” I smile. “Can I get you something to drink? Sarah just ran to get coffee; I can text her if you’d like one?”

He shakes his head. “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

He rests his briefcase on his knee and unzips the bag, digging through the files.

“So.” I fold my hands onto of the mess of papers on my desk. “You made it sound like there was a problem? I know I sent over last month’s financial ledger, and you’ve had access to the bookkeeping software.”

He peeks over his wire-rimmed glasses at me with a firm stare. “Yes. What I’m here to discuss isn’t about that.”

My stomach sinks.

“Oh? Did the money from the endowment not transfer? I know, with Lucas having passed…” I have to pause a moment and swallow down the swell of emotion that clogs my throat. Dammit. There isn’t time for that right now. “With him gone, there might be a hiccup with his estate.”

“No.” He finally finds the files he’s looking for and yanks them out from between the numerous other folders he has stuffed in the bag.

“No, it didn’t transfer?”

“No, that’s not what I need to discuss with you. The transfer isn’t due until next quarter.” His briefcase lands on the floor at his feet with a thud and he leans back in his chair, holding the folder to his chest.

“All right then. What’s the problem?” I lace my fingers together, squeezing tightly.

He’s going to tell me we didn’t pay enough in taxes last year, or the property taxes are going up this year.

“Every quarter I do a financial audit of the accounts.”

“Right. I have the report you sent over here somewhere.” I start looking around the papers. It could be anywhere at this point. “We haven’t had our quarterly trustee meeting yet.”

“What I found isn’t in the report.” His fingers tighten on the folder.

“Why wouldn’t it be in the report?”

Sarah pushes through the door, carrying two cups of coffee in her hands.

“Sorry to interrupt.” She smiles at Mr. Pederse and hands my cup to me over the desk.

“You’re my favorite employee today.” With a grin, I take the large paper cup out of her hands.

“Of course I am.” She laughs, but stifles the sound when she notices the stiff in the chair staring up at her. “Sorry. I’ll let you two get back to it.”

“Thank you.” He frowns.

Once she’s behind him, she rolls her eyes and heads for the door.

“Sarah, can you close it, please?” I call to her just as she steps out into the hall. “Now, what did you find and not disclose in the report?”

I take a quick sip of the caramel deliciousness before setting the cup to the side. At this rate, I’m going to need something stronger than coffee to get through this meeting.

“It didn’t go in the report because I felt a personal meeting would be best to discuss the matter.” He pulls a sheet of paper out of the folder and hands it to me.

Glancing over it, there’s nothing weird to me. It’s a list of vendors and the amounts we’ve paid over the last quarter. Flipping to the second page, I see another list from the last quarter of last year.

“What am I looking at?” I ask when he seems determined to make me figure out this puzzle on my own.

“In quarter four of last year, a new vendor appears to be used that’s not on the approved list.” He taps the top of the paper.

“Do you mean this Finity company?” The first sheet is full of the vendor payments.

“Yes. It appeared in quarter four, but only sporadically so it wasn’t questioned. When we did the year-end reporting, it didn’t look overly odd. However, when I went over this last quarter, it has appeared nearly weekly for the entire quarter.”

“Okay, but what is Finity? What do they do for us?”

“Lia,” he sighs. “That’s a question I ask you. The bookkeeper only writes checks and makes payments that are requested through you or anyone else that has financial permissions.”

“Okay, well, I don’t know who this company is, and I’ve never sent a bill over to be paid for them. There has to be a mistake.” I try to hand the papers back, but he refuses them.

“Here.” He slides a stapled packet of pages to me. “These are all of the invoices that have been paid to Finity. If you’ll notice, there’s an initial at the bottom of each invoice.”

“These are Lucas’ initials.” I run my thumb over the letters scribbled in the corner. “This isn’t making any sense. Lucas never dealt with the finances here. Other than to look at the quarterly reports, he never even looked at the books. Why would he be sending invoices for payment, and these invoices don’t even show anything? Just the name and one line item with a date on it. How was this categorized in the books?”

“According to the bookkeeper, she was sent an email from your brother with the first invoice telling her to categorize it as an office supply expense.”

He reaches across the desk and pulls the first bundle of papers he handed me and flips to the last page. “In this last quarter that amounts to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

My throat closes around a groan. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

“Did you try to find this Finity company?” The question barely has any sound to it when it’s asked.

“Yes. I found nothing. There is no business listing for that company.” His chair creaks when he leans back, having given all the news he prepared for me.

“You’re suggesting Lucas was embezzling money from the foundation.”

“I’m only pointing out a discrepancy.” He splays his hands out as though he’s not making any accusations.

“Have there been any invoices sent over since his death?”

“No.”

“All right.” I drop all the papers onto my desk. “If he was doing what is being suggested, there shouldn’t be anything else going forward.”

“I would assume not.”

“Can you direct the bookkeeper not to send any more payments to this vendor, and if any invoice shows up for it, to direct it to me?”

“Of course. However, I don’t recommend letting the matter simply die.” He catches his choice of phrasing and winces. “Sorry. What I mean is if this is discovered in a government audit, the foundation could lose its tax-exempt status.”

“What do you suggest then?”

“I think we should do a full forensic audit to be certain there are no other issues. It would also help be certain that it was in fact Lucas or if there was someone else involved.”

“Have there been any strange donations in the last quarter? Something that might offset the expense?”

His brow pulls tight. “Not that I noticed, but that would also be found during the audit.” He leans toward me, sympathy playing in his eyes. “If there is an embezzlement issue here, you are obligated to report it. There is also a possibility of recovering the funds if you file a claim with your fidelity insurance. It covers this sort of thing.”

A throbbing takes over my head and all I can hear is the beating of drums in my ears.

“I need to sort this out before I make any decisions. Give me a few days to look all of this over. Maybe there’s something I’ll see that you missed.”

His brows lift. “I doubt I missed something.”

“Well, maybe I can figure out who this Finity company is. I’ll go to Lucas’ apartment tonight and look through his personal files. If I find anything that suggests he did this, then we’ll go forward with the reporting and filing a claim. Just give me a few days, all right?”

After a short hesitation, he nods. “Very well. If there’s anything you need clarified or any other reports, just let me know.”

“Thank you.” Some of the crushing weight rolls off my chest with the time I’ve bought, but it’s still hard to breathe.

I stand up as he gathers his things and walk him to the door of my office. Only once he’s gone, and I have the door shut and locked, do I lean back against it and clench my eyes closed.

This could ruin the foundation. It could destroy the community’s trust in the center.

If Lucas was washing mafia money through his company, there is every possibility he was doing the same with the foundation.

A tornado of anger and grief wrecks my ability to think.

And now I’m married to the very mafia he did this with.

Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?

“Fuck!”