Chapter 4 - THE LITTLE ROOM THEY PLANNED TO DESTROY
At nine the following morning, I found a chain hanging across the entrance of the Maple Street Reading Room.
A white notice had been taped to the glass.
TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR FACILITY ASSESSMENT
I read it three times.
Last Thursday, six-year-old Caleb Martinez had told me he was going there to finish his first chapter book.
Now the doors were locked.
Behind the glass, I could see the little wooden chairs arranged around a reading table.
A forgotten blue sweater rested over one of them.
"Madison?"
I turned.
Mrs. Ortega, the sixty-eight-year-old volunteer coordinator, was approaching with a grocery bag and a ring of keys.
Her gray hair was pulled into a loose bun.
"You heard about the closing?"
"Not until last night."
She gave a weary sigh.
"They told us the children were being moved to a bigger center. But nobody has given us an address."
"How many children use this place?"
"Forty-three regularly. More during summer."
She unlocked the door.
Inside, the familiar smell of old books and lemon cleaner greeted me.
A row of handmade stars hung above the reading corner.
On one of them, Caleb had written in large, uneven letters:
EVERYBODY GETS A CHAIR.
I touched the paper.
My eyes burned.
"Caleb made that after we talked about sharing," Mrs. Ortega said. "He said he wanted every kid to have somewhere to sit."
I thought of the servants' table.
The cruel symmetry almost made me laugh.
Twenty minutes later, Eleanor and Ruth arrived.
Eleanor wore a simple cream cardigan and comfortable shoes.
She looked nothing like the billionaire who had entered Victoria's ballroom.
Mrs. Ortega immediately recognized her.
"Mrs. Chen?"
Eleanor smiled sadly.
"Hello, Rosa."
I looked between them.
"You know each other?"
"Many years ago," Eleanor said.
She walked toward a photograph hanging beside the bookshelves.
It showed a younger Eleanor standing beside two men in front of this very building.
One was her late husband, Thomas Chen.
The other was Victor Harrison.
James's grandfather.
My husband's family had rarely spoken about him except when discussing the fortune he helped build.
Eleanor touched the photograph.
"Thomas believed children should have places where nobody asked how much their parents earned."
She paused.
"Victor helped establish this center. We opened it together in 1989."
I stared at her.
"Then why would Victoria close it?"
"I intend to find out."
Ruth began examining the attendance records Mrs. Ortega had kept.
The books contained actual dates, volunteer names, and children's initials.
According to the trust's pilot reports, however, the reading room had served more than one hundred children every week since April.
Mrs. Ortega looked astonished.
"That isn't possible. We haven't had enough volunteers to stay open five days a week since February."
Ruth made a note.
"That discrepancy alone requires investigation."
Then she pointed toward a newly installed sign on the wall.
HARRISON COMMUNITY LEARNING INITIATIVE
"Who put this up?"
"Two men from the trust," Mrs. Ortega replied. "About a month ago. They photographed everything and left."
"Did they bring supplies?"
"No."
"Additional teachers?"
"No."
"Computers?"
Mrs. Ortega shook her head.
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly.
I had never seen someone look so disappointed without saying a word.
By noon, Ruth had compared the pilot report with Mrs. Ortega's records.
The trust claimed to have created three functioning educational locations.
Only one appeared to have served children consistently.
And that was the building scheduled for redevelopment.
Still, Eleanor refused to make accusations without examining the financial records.
"Poor reporting isn't always theft," she told me. "But children deserve better than impressive numbers."
I agreed.
Then Mrs. Ortega opened a storage drawer.
"I nearly forgot. Someone from the trust left a binder here when they measured the building last week."
She handed it to Ruth.
Inside were furniture measurements, rental estimates, and pages of financial tables.
Ruth began turning the pages.
Then she stopped.
"Madison, may I ask you something personal?"
"Of course."
"Have you received any consulting income from the Harrison Family Trust during the last six months?"
"No."
"Not a stipend? An adviser payment?"
"Nothing."
Ruth turned the binder toward me.
Under EDUCATIONAL CONSULTING EXPENSES, one line stood out.
MADISON HARRISON — PROGRAM ADVISER
TOTAL COMPENSATION: $92,000
For a moment, the words wouldn't make sense.
I earned forty thousand dollars a year teaching kindergarten.
I had never received ninety-two thousand dollars from anyone.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
Ruth studied the payment reference.
Then she looked at Eleanor.
"These expenses were reported to the foundation as completed payments."
Eleanor's face became very still.
"Can you identify the receiving account?"
"Not from this summary. We'll need the underlying bank records."
I looked again at my name.
Not only had someone used my teaching credentials without permission.
They had claimed to pay me more than twice my annual salary.
For a job I had never performed.
May you like
And if anyone believed those records, I wouldn't simply look dishonest.
I would look like someone who had stolen money intended for children.
