Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN IN THE GREEN COAT
“She knew who I was?”
I stared at Benjamin.
The photograph remained on the table between us.
The woman in the green coat had appeared when I couldn't afford diapers.
She'd treated me with kindness.
And now I was learning that she belonged to the family whose company had helped ruin my Christmas.
Benjamin looked troubled.
“I don't know what she knew.”
“Then we ask her.”
The address led to a small apartment building near the Tennessee River.
Nothing about it suggested wealth.
The hall smelled faintly of furniture polish and baked apples.
Margaret Tolbert opened her door before I had finished introducing myself.
She looked at Benjamin first.
Then at May.
“Well,” she said softly. “It's time.”
Benjamin's expression hardened.
“You knew this was coming?”
Margaret stepped aside.
“I hoped it would.”
Her apartment was warm and crowded with books.
A small Christmas tree remained in the corner even though January had already begun.
On the mantel sat a framed photograph of William Tolbert.
Beside it was a child's drawing.
The same crooked Christmas tree that hung in Benjamin's office.
But this version included four stick figures.
And across the bottom:
DADDY, PLEASE COME HOME.
Benjamin stopped walking.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your father gave it to me after the first Christmas he spent in the hospital.”
Benjamin stared.
“I thought he'd thrown it away.”
“He saved everything you made.”
For a moment, I saw something painful pass between them.
Then Benjamin looked away.
“We're here about the assistance fund.”
Margaret nodded.
“I know.”
“You knew workers were losing their jobs?”
“I knew something was wrong. I didn't know how much until recently.”
“Why didn't you come to me?”
“I tried, Benjamin.”
“When?”
“Three years ago. Your office said all vendor concerns had to go through finance.”
He looked ashamed.
Margaret continued.
“I wrote letters. I attended a shareholder meeting. Gordon's people told me the foundation records were private.”
“Why?”
“Because the money was being diverted.”
I leaned forward.
“You know that?”
“I suspected it. Teresa Alvarez showed me evidence years ago.”
Margaret opened a wooden box.
Inside were copies of checks, employee notices, and handwritten notes.
One sheet contained names of workers who had requested help.
Another showed payments supposedly made to them.
Beside several names, someone had written:
NOT RECEIVED.
I recognized my own name on a recent addition.
Margaret saw me looking.
“I didn't know about you until Christmas.”
“The grocery store?”
She nodded.
“Darla told me a young mother had been suspended. When I saw you checking the balance on your phone at the checkout, I recognized the stroller from a photograph Darla showed me.”
“You could have told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because I was afraid you'd think I was another person trying to buy your silence.”
I stared at her.
That was exactly what I would have thought.
Benjamin sat across from Margaret.
“Why did Dad leave the fund under Gordon's control?”
Margaret's face tightened.
“He didn't.”
She opened another envelope.
Inside was a letter dated six months before William Tolbert's death.
Not a legal document.
A personal letter addressed to Margaret.
William had written that he was concerned about unexplained vendor payments and feared Gordon had become too powerful.
He had asked Margaret to help him review the assistance program.
But before they could complete the review, William's health declined.
Margaret reached for Benjamin's hand.
“Your father wasn't protecting Gordon.”
Benjamin stared at the letter.
“He was trying to stop him.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“I did. At the funeral.”
Benjamin slowly raised his eyes.
Margaret's voice trembled.
“You told me you didn't want another lecture about your father's business. You said the company had already taken enough of your life.”
Benjamin looked toward the Christmas drawing.
“I remember.”
“And I should have tried again,” Margaret whispered.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Benjamin reached across the table.
He took her hand.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But the beginning of something.
Margaret opened the wooden box again.
From beneath the letters, she removed a small brass key.
Darla's second key.
“I kept this because Teresa trusted me.”
“What is in the bottom drawer?” I asked.
Margaret looked at Benjamin.
“The original beneficiary ledger.”
“Why not take it out years ago?”
“Because Teresa believed the cabinet would be watched. She wanted both keys separated until someone independent could open it.”
Benjamin frowned.
“And you waited eleven years?”
“I waited too long.”
Her answer was painfully simple.
She looked at May.
“I don't intend to wait any longer.”
We returned to the warehouse annex that afternoon.
Benjamin had arranged for an independent records specialist to document the opening.
Both keys turned.
The bottom drawer slid out.
Inside were three bound ledgers and a metal cash box.
The ledgers contained handwritten entries.
Each listed a worker's name, approved assistance amount, and original distribution instructions.
Then came a second column.
VENDOR SETTLEMENT.
Nearly every disputed payment had been redirected.
To one account.
Grayson Consulting Holdings.
Harold Grayson's company.
Benjamin stared.
His father's former partner had been receiving money intended for struggling workers.
The amounts totaled hundreds of thousands.
But that wasn't the worst discovery.
Inside the metal box lay an unsigned draft letter.
It appeared to be William Tolbert's instructions to suspend Varner and commission an independent audit.
Attached were notes suggesting Grayson had pressured William to continue the contract.
Then Margaret found a folded photograph.
William Tolbert sat in his office with Gordon Pike and Harold Grayson.
On the table stood a small silver desk clock.
The date printed on the back was May 2019.
Benjamin stared at the clock.
“I still have that.”
“Where?” Margaret asked.
“In my father's old desk.”
The clock had remained untouched for years.
Benjamin took the photograph.
Something was written beneath it.
THE ANSWER IS WHERE TIME STOPPED.
He looked at Margaret.
“Did Dad write this?”
She studied the handwriting.
“Yes.”
Back at headquarters, Benjamin opened his father's desk drawer.
The clock was there.
Its hands had stopped at 4:17.
He turned it over.
A tiny screw held the rear panel closed.
Inside was a folded strip of paper.
May you like
On it, William Tolbert had written three words.
ASK ELAINE WHY.
