Chapter 5 - MY FATHER-IN-LAW'S SILENCE HAD A PRICE
Derek stared at the six entries bearing his name.
“I wasn't even on the board.”
Richard nodded.
“I understand.”
“No, Dad. You don't. Someone has made it look like I approved hundreds of thousands of dollars in transfers from a children's charity.”
Richard's hands trembled.
“I didn't realize how far things had gone.”
I glanced at the ledger.
The transactions began in June.
By November, they had grown substantially.
The total came to more than half a million dollars.
I tried to imagine what that money could have done.
Summer reading programs.
Books for children in rural neighborhoods.
Transportation for families who couldn't reach the library.
Instead, it had disappeared into the Bradford family's financial problems.
“Why didn't you ask where the money was going?” I asked.
Richard looked at me.
“Because Evelyn kept telling me she had everything under control.”
“And you believed her?”
“I wanted to.”
That answer was painfully revealing.
Richard wasn't a cruel man.
He was a man who had confused keeping peace with doing what was right.
Derek pushed the ledger back.
“We need the original records and an independent accounting.”
Richard nodded.
“I'll cooperate.”
“Even if it means the company suffers?”
Richard looked at Eleanor's photograph.
“Especially then.”
When we left the diner, Richard walked beside me through the snow.
“Annette?”
I stopped.
“I knew my mother would have liked you.”
I wasn't prepared for that.
“You barely knew her,” he continued. “But she used to say that people who spend their lives helping children are doing important work.”
My eyes filled.
“Evelyn doesn't seem to agree.”
Richard gave a sad smile.
“Evelyn spent so many years trying to impress people who had more money than us that she forgot what mattered to my mother.”
Before we separated, he made one more promise.
“I won't stay silent again.”
I wanted to believe him.
But promises had become difficult to trust.
The first morning my library reopened after Christmas, I arrived early.
Our director, Gail Harper, was waiting in her office.
Gail was sixty-one, with silver-framed glasses and the steady patience of someone who had spent four decades helping children learn to read.
She closed the door gently.
“Annette, we need to talk.”
My stomach dropped.
She handed me a printed message.
It had been sent to several library board members.
The subject line read:
Serious Concern Regarding Employee Conduct.
The message alleged that I had stolen jewelry from a respected local donor and had behaved aggressively at a private family gathering.
It was signed Evelyn Bradford.
I read it twice.
“She contacted my employer?”
Gail nodded.
“She also suggested that the foundation might reconsider future support.”
I looked at her.
“Support? Gail, we never received the winter payment.”
“I know.”
“Then what exactly is she threatening to withdraw?”
Gail removed her glasses.
“That's one of the questions we're asking.”
She explained that, until the accusation was investigated, she was temporarily moving me away from public children's programming.
I understood her position.
But understanding didn't make it hurt less.
I had worked seven years to build relationships with the children who visited our library.
Now Evelyn was trying to take that away.
“Do you believe I stole from her?” I asked.
Gail looked directly at me.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I need to protect both you and the library while we verify what happened.”
I nodded.
My throat was too tight to answer.
As I stood to leave, Gail reached for another folder.
“There is something else.”
She showed me a foundation expense report supplied during the library's grant reconciliation.
It contained a list of community outreach expenditures.
One entry caught my attention.
Goodwin Literacy Consulting — $42,600.
Recipient: Annette Goodwin.
I stared at my own name.
“I've never owned a consulting business.”
Gail's expression darkened.
“That's what I thought.”
I looked at the payment date.
November 14.
More than a month before Christmas.
Whoever had created that invoice hadn't decided to use my name during the argument at dinner.
Someone had been preparing to involve me for weeks.
Then I noticed the description beneath the payment.
Services performed on behalf of the Eleanor Bradford Children's Reading Fund.
It carried an electronic approval.
My husband's name appeared beside mine.
I gripped the edge of Gail's desk.
“Gail, somebody didn't just plant a bracelet in my pocket.”
May you like
I turned the report toward her.
“They've been putting my name on stolen money.”
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