Chapter 4 - The Charity That Didn't Exist
Ethan's chief financial officer answered on the second ring.
“Grace, I need the disbursement records for the Children's Cardiac Advancement Initiative.”
I watched Ethan pace once across the dressing room.
“Yes. The nonprofit.”
A pause.
“No, don't send them to the hospital.”
Another pause.
“Send them directly to our outside counsel, and call me from a secure line.”
He ended the call.
I stared at him.
“Twelve million dollars?”
“Over eighteen months.”
“And you didn't know?”
His expression tightened.
“I knew the grants existed. I reviewed the foundation's annual commitments.”
“Then how could you not know where they went?”
“Because I relied on reports supplied by people I trusted.”
He looked at me.
“And that was a mistake.”
I expected him to defend himself.
Instead, he took responsibility.
It startled me.
Andrew never admitted mistakes.
Not even small ones.
Especially not small ones.
Ethan pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
“I can't.”
“Ava, you're shaking.”
“I've been shaking for months.”
The words came out harsher than I intended.
He accepted them without complaint.
“Then you don't have to sit.”
I pressed my palms against the mirror.
For a moment, I hated him.
Not because he'd done anything wrong.
Because he could still make choices.
He could call lawyers.
He could direct security.
He could step into a ballroom full of powerful people and make everyone listen.
I had spent months calculating how to ask permission to buy groceries.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered.
“You don't need to apologize.”
“I snapped at you.”
“You're allowed to be angry.”
I looked at him.
He said it so simply.
As though anger were something I was entitled to feel.
A knock sounded.
Daniel returned with a woman I recognized.
Margaret Ellis.
The foundation's general counsel.
She was fifty-two, silver-haired, and famous inside the company for asking questions other people preferred to avoid.
She stopped when she saw me.
“Ava?”
I straightened automatically.
“Good evening, Ms. Ellis.”
Her eyes moved over my face.
Then to Ethan.
“What happened?”
Ethan answered carefully.
“Ava has information concerning Dr. Vaughn that may involve criminal conduct and misuse of foundation money.”
Margaret's expression changed.
She looked back at me.
“Are you safe?”
I nodded.
“I think so.”
“Do you need medical attention?”
I hesitated.
“Yes,” Ethan said quietly.
Margaret ignored his answer.
She looked directly at me.
“Ava?”
That was when I understood why Ethan had called her.
She wasn't going to let anyone speak over me.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I think I do.”
Margaret nodded.
“Then that's our first priority.”
She moved closer.
“Everything else can wait long enough for you to receive care.”
“What about the gala?”
“That can be addressed.”
“What about Andrew?”
Her face hardened.
“He can wait too.”
I nearly smiled.
It was the first time in months I'd heard someone say his name without admiration.
Margaret sat beside me.
“Ethan told me about a flash drive.”
I glanced at it.
“It contains hospital records.”
“Do you know how those records were obtained?”
I explained what I could.
Melissa had copied material while investigating discrepancies.
She'd told me the records showed altered timestamps, missing medication documentation, and internal communications about a mortality review.
Margaret listened without interruption.
When I finished, she said, “We need to preserve the device without circulating patient information.”
“Can it help?”
“Possibly. But it needs to be reviewed by the appropriate investigators and attorneys.”
I nodded.
“Will I get in trouble for having it?”
“I can't promise you that no one will ask questions.”
She paused.
“But I can promise you we won't hide evidence, alter it, or pretend your concerns don't matter.”
For some reason, that made me trust her more.
She didn't make promises she couldn't keep.
Another call arrived.
Grace.
Ethan put her on speaker after asking.
“I've located the payment records,” Grace said.
“What do they show?”
“Three primary recipients.”
“Names?”
“Children's Cardiac Advancement Initiative, Vaughn Pediatric Research Trust, and Northstar Medical Consulting.”
Margaret leaned forward.
“Northstar?”
“Yes.”
Ethan frowned.
“I've never approved a consulting firm by that name.”
Grace continued.
“Northstar received four million six hundred thousand dollars in direct and subcontracted payments.”
A silence settled over the room.
Margaret asked, “Who approved the vendors?”
“Richard Mercer.”
I felt the floor tilt.
Ethan rested one hand on the table.
“Does Northstar have an active business address?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Grace hesitated.
“It's registered to a commercial mail service in Delaware.”
“Who owns it?”
“I'm still checking.”
Margaret's phone vibrated.
She glanced down.
Then she looked at Ethan.
“I've received something from our external auditors.”
“What?”
She opened the message.
“The foundation's annual report includes a certification letter from the hospital.”
“And?”
“The signature doesn't match the signature on Mercer's current filings.”
Ethan stared at her.
“Are you saying it's forged?”
“I'm saying it needs authentication.”
Grace spoke again.
“Ethan, there's something else.”
“Go ahead.”
“The payments to Northstar increased sharply after the Whitcomb case.”
I gripped the chair.
“How much?”
“Nearly two million dollars in six weeks.”
Ethan looked at Margaret.
“Freeze any unpaid grants connected to these entities, subject to legal review.”
Margaret nodded.
“And preserve the records.”
“Already doing it,” Grace said.
Then the door opened.
We all turned.
A young event coordinator stood in the doorway, white-faced.
“Mr. Carter, I'm sorry.”
Daniel moved toward her.
“You can't come in here.”
“Please. It's urgent.”
Ethan nodded.
“Speak.”
She swallowed.
“Dr. Vaughn is downstairs telling the press that Miss Bennett has been taken ill.”
My stomach tightened.
“That's not all,” she continued.
“He's saying Mr. Carter has become personally involved in her care.”
Ethan's expression darkened.
“What exactly did he say?”
The coordinator hesitated.
“He implied there may be an inappropriate relationship.”
My face burned.
Andrew had found the easiest weapon.
A lie that would turn my injuries into a scandal.
A lie that would make every concern I raised look like revenge.
Margaret stood.
“Of course he did.”
Ethan looked at her.
“What do we do?”
She considered him.
Then said, “We don't give him the confrontation he wants.”
I stared at her.
“But he's lying.”
“Yes.”
“He's going to destroy my reputation.”
“He may try.”
Margaret turned to me.
“But that doesn't mean he gets to write the ending.”
Downstairs, the applause began again.
A voice floated through the speakers.
“Tonight, we celebrate a physician whose courage has brought hope to countless families.”
I recognized Richard Mercer.
Andrew's introduction.
My heart raced.
“He's about to receive the award.”
Ethan checked his watch.
7:42 p.m.
Then he said something that surprised everyone.
“Let him come to the stage.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Let him stand in front of the cameras.”
Margaret narrowed her eyes.
“Ethan.”
He looked at her.
“I'm not accusing him publicly.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Ethan picked up his jacket.
“I'm going to tell everyone what my foundation is doing next.”
“And what is that?”
He looked at the silver flash drive.
Then at me.
“An independent audit. A preservation of records. And a complete suspension of any celebration that might compromise an investigation.”
I stepped toward him.
“Andrew will know.”
“Yes.”
“He'll come after you.”
“Possibly.”
I swallowed.
“And me.”
Ethan's expression softened.
“That's why you won't be anywhere near that stage unless you decide otherwise.”
He turned toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Ava?”
“Yes?”
“You've spent a year making sure I never miss an important moment.”
I looked at him.
“Tonight, I'm going to return the favor.”
He left with Margaret and Daniel.
I stood alone in the dressing room.
For the first time that evening, the silence didn't feel like a trap.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
Don't trust the hospital.
A second followed.
Mercer knows where Melissa is.
And then a photograph appeared.
Melissa Grant.
Sitting in a narrow room.
Holding that day's newspaper.
Alive.
Terrified.
Behind her was a window with a distinctive red brick arch.
May you like
And underneath the photograph were four words.
Ask about Ward Seven.
