Chapter 7 - The Foundation's Missing Names
An hour and forty minutes before the wedding was supposed to begin, my fiancé asked his uncle to explain why he was using a veterans' scholarship fund to pay family expenses.
Robert Prescott laughed.
It was a deep, theatrical laugh designed to make everyone else feel foolish.
"My God, Spencer."
He spread his hands.
"Have you completely lost your mind?"
Spencer held up the letterhead.
"Then explain this."
Robert snatched the paper.
"That's confidential."
"Confidential to whom?"
"The foundation board."
Spencer stared at him.
"I'm on the board."
Robert's face reddened.
"You're a nonvoting family representative."
Spencer shook his head.
"That doesn't mean you can hide everything from me."
Robert stuffed the paper into his portfolio.
"These are routine accounting documents."
I watched him carefully.
"If they're routine, why are you so upset?"
His eyes flashed toward me.
"Captain Lennox."
He said my rank as though it were an insult.
"You have no authority in this matter."
I nodded.
"That's true."
The answer seemed to surprise him.
"But I do have a question."
He folded his arms.
"Of course you do."
"How many scholarships did the foundation award last year?"
He stared at me.
"What?"
"The Veterans Education Fund."
I kept my voice even.
"How many people received assistance?"
Robert looked toward Spencer.
"Is this necessary?"
Spencer didn't help him.
Robert sighed.
"Several."
"How many?"
"Erin, you're being absurd."
I glanced at Dana.
Then I looked back at him.
"Ten?"
No answer.
"Twenty?"
He stared at the wall.
"Fifty?"
Robert's voice rose.
"I don't have those figures memorized."
I nodded.
"Fair enough."
Then I asked, "Where are the recipients listed?"
His expression changed.
"Why?"
"Because every nonprofit scholarship program I've worked with publishes award information or maintains records for its board."
He pointed at me.
"You don't know how the Prescott Foundation operates."
"You're right."
I took a small step forward.
"That's why I'm asking."
Spencer looked at his uncle.
"Answer her."
Robert snapped the portfolio shut.
"I will not be interrogated by a woman who has spent the morning humiliating this family."
For a moment, I almost answered.
Then I noticed Spencer's face.
He looked tired.
Deeply tired.
Not the exhaustion of a man preparing for a wedding.
The exhaustion of someone seeing a familiar pattern clearly for the first time.
"Uncle Robert."
His voice was quiet.
"Erin didn't humiliate this family."
Robert scoffed.
"Really?"
"No."
Spencer looked toward the door where Vivian had disappeared.
"You did."
His uncle stared at him.
Then he said something that changed the atmosphere completely.
"Your father would be disgusted."
Spencer went still.
Robert saw it.
He leaned forward.
"Walter trusted me to protect his legacy."
His voice softened into something almost paternal.
"He knew you weren't ready to manage things."
Spencer stared at the desk.
"He left instructions."
Robert nodded.
"Exactly."
I looked at Spencer.
He had told me that his father left most of the family business interests under trustee management until Spencer turned thirty-five.
That birthday was eleven weeks away.
At the time, I hadn't thought much about it.
Robert had managed the accounts for years.
Spencer worked as an architect.
He had never been particularly interested in the family business.
But now I began to wonder why Robert was so invested in controlling a wedding that had already been paid for.
"Spencer," I said softly.
He turned.
"How long until you become a voting trustee?"
He frowned.
"Eleven weeks."
Robert's head jerked up.
"That has nothing to do with this."
I looked at him.
"Maybe not."
Spencer stared at his uncle.
Then understanding slowly crossed his face.
"You're worried about the trust."
Robert scoffed.
"Don't be ridiculous."
Spencer moved closer.
"My father left me his controlling interest when I turn thirty-five."
"Under conditions."
"Yes."
He held his uncle's gaze.
"And those conditions don't say I have to marry someone you approve of."
Robert's jaw tightened.
I looked at Spencer.
"Does marriage change anything?"
He hesitated.
"Not ownership."
"Then what?"
Spencer looked uncomfortable.
"The family trust agreement requires a review of major distributions before the transfer."
Robert interrupted.
"Exactly."
Spencer ignored him.
"And Uncle Robert has to certify that the accounts are in order."
I felt a slow chill.
"Who reviews them?"
"An outside accounting firm."
Robert slammed his portfolio onto the desk.
"This conversation is over."
I looked at him.
The man was sweating.
It wasn't particularly warm.
The air-conditioning was running hard enough that I could feel cold air against my bare legs.
Yet a dark patch had appeared beneath Robert's collar.
I didn't know whether there was anything wrong with the foundation's finances.
I had no proof.
But I knew what panic looked like.
I'd seen it in field exercises.
I'd seen it when people lost control of situations they believed they could manage.
Robert's anger didn't feel like outrage anymore.
It felt like fear.
"Robert," Spencer said.
His uncle turned.
"What accounting firm?"
Robert glared.
"The same one we've always used."
"Name it."
"Spencer."
"Name it."
Robert's expression hardened.
"Mercer, Blake and Associates."
Spencer looked at Owen, who had entered quietly behind Julian.
Owen Mercer was a civil litigation attorney.
He had been Spencer's closest friend since college.
And although he didn't practice trust law, he understood enough to recognize when someone was avoiding a reasonable question.
Owen stepped forward.
"Robert, I think we should all be careful about making accusations."
Robert smiled.
"Finally, someone sensible."
Owen continued.
"But Spencer is entitled to request the governing documents and appropriate financial information."
Robert's smile vanished.
"Are you representing him?"
Owen looked at Spencer.
"Not formally."
Then he said, "But I'd be happy to recommend an independent trust attorney."
Robert stared at him.
I looked at Owen.
He gave me a small nod.
It wasn't a victory.
But it felt like the first time the room had stopped revolving around Robert's approval.
Then Constance appeared in the doorway.
She was fully dressed now.
A pale silver gown.
Pearls restored around her neck.
Hair perfectly styled.
Only her swollen eyes betrayed what had happened.
She looked at Robert.
"Tell me you didn't touch the scholarship fund."
He froze.
Spencer turned.
"Mom?"
Constance ignored him.
"Robert."
Her voice was steady.
"Tell me you haven't been using Walter's fund to cover your mistakes."
For the first time, her brother looked frightened.
"What nonsense have they been telling you?"
She stepped inside.
"I know about the distributions."
Robert's mouth opened.
Then closed.
Constance continued.
"Walter gave you administrative authority."
Her face hardened.
"He did not give you permission to treat that money as your own."
Spencer stared at her.
"Mom, what are you talking about?"
She looked at him.
And I saw something that hadn't been there earlier.
Resolve.
Perhaps she'd finally become tired of being afraid.
Perhaps watching Robert threaten her son had forced her to see what years of silence had allowed.
Or perhaps hearing my father's name had opened something she could no longer close.
Whatever the reason, she stood straighter.
"Your father suspected irregularities before he died."
The room became silent.
Robert whispered, "Connie."
She didn't look at him.
"He asked me to keep the old files."
Spencer blinked.
"What files?"
Constance swallowed.
"Copies of the foundation reports."
I stared at her.
"Where?"
She looked at me.
Then at Robert.
"In my attic."
My breath caught.
The attic.
The old boxes.
The black garment bag.
The place where she had hidden her own Army uniform.
Robert took a step toward her.
"Connie, don't."
She backed away.
"Don't come near me."
His expression turned ugly.
"You have no idea what you're doing."
Constance's hands shook.
"Maybe not."
She looked at Spencer.
"But I know what your father asked me to protect."
Robert pointed at her.
"You've spent thirty years hiding behind my work."
Constance flinched.
He continued.
"Who do you think paid for your parties?"
"Robert."
"Your clubs?"
"Stop."
"Your precious reputation?"
Spencer stepped forward.
"Enough."
Robert rounded on him.
"You think marrying that soldier makes you brave?"
I felt Spencer stiffen.
Robert laughed bitterly.
"You're still the same boy who couldn't make a decision without somebody holding his hand."
I watched the words strike him.
Then Spencer did something small.
Something almost invisible.
He stopped looking for his mother's reaction.
He stopped looking at Robert.
And he turned toward me.
"Erin."
I met his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
The words weren't dramatic.
They weren't loud.
But I knew exactly what he meant.
He was apologizing for the years he'd let his family treat me as though my worth was something they got to vote on.
I nodded once.
Robert moved toward the door.
Owen spoke.
"Before you leave, I strongly recommend that no foundation records be destroyed or altered."
Robert turned.
"Are you threatening me?"
"No."
Owen's expression remained calm.
"I'm telling you that preserving records is the sensible thing to do."
Robert sneered.
Then he walked out.
Constance sat heavily in the nearest chair.
Spencer looked at her.
"Mom."
She raised her head.
"How long have you known?"
She stared at her hands.
"I suspected."
"How long?"
Her eyes filled.
"Since before your father died."
Spencer staggered backward a step.
I reached for him.
He barely seemed to feel my hand.
His voice was hollow.
"Dad died four years ago."
Constance nodded.
"And you said nothing?"
She began to cry.
I stood beside him, not knowing what to say.
Then Dana entered.
She held her phone in one hand.
Her face was serious.
"Erin."
I turned.
"What?"
"Vivian just left the property."
I frowned.
"Okay."
Dana shook her head.
"She wasn't alone."
Something in her expression made my stomach tighten.
"Who was with her?"
Dana hesitated.
"Marjorie."
I stared at her.
Dana continued.
"Julian says they were arguing near the parking lot."
Constance rose.
"What?"
"Marjorie got into Vivian's car."
Dana swallowed.
"And one of the valets heard her say she wasn't going to lie for the family anymore."
The words settled over the room.
I looked toward the window.
Outside, guests were still arriving.
May you like
The chapel bells began ringing for what was supposed to be my wedding.
And somewhere beyond the club gates, a woman who might know exactly what had happened was driving away with the person who had destroyed my uniform.
