Chapter 4 - THE FALSE FOUNDATION
Two days later, the rain cleared, making way for an icy chill. The local news had already picked up rumors of an investigation surrounding the Fairview Charitable Foundation—Celeste's highly publicized charity that was supposed to provide pediatric medical grants across the Pacific Northwest.
In reality, the foundation had spent less than two percent of its budget on actual children. The rest paid for luxury lease vehicles, private resort stays in Cabo, and Celeste's designer wardrobe.
I stood outside the grand ballroom of the Bellevue Regency Hotel. Tonight was supposed to be Celeste’s annual fundraising gala—a black-tie event where she expected to collect another half a million dollars from unsuspecting local elites.
Despite the frozen bank accounts, Mother had managed to secure a short-term loan from an old associate to keep the gala running, hoping a public display of prestige would force the authorities to step back.
I adjusted the lapels of my tailored dark green suit, walking through the glass doors with Marcus beside me.
The ballroom was filled with crystal chandeliers, tuxedos, and champagne flutes. At the front stage, Celeste stood wearing a white lace gown, smiling broadly for photographers while holding baby Leo in her arms like a prop. Mother stood beside her, clad in emerald silk, looking like royalty—though I caught the nervous flicker in her eyes every time someone opened the main entrance doors.
As Celeste stepped up to the microphone, her voice echoed through the sound system.
"Welcome, everyone," Celeste said, beaming with practiced grace. "Tonight, we celebrate hope, healing, and the incredible legacy of my father, Arthur Vance. Through the Fairview Foundation, we continue to prove that family, love, and integrity are the pillars of our community."
I stepped out from behind a floral pillar and walked straight down the center aisle toward the stage.
"Integrity?" I called out, my clear voice piercing through the soft background music. "Is that what you call transferring non-profit funds into a Swiss holdings account, Celeste?"
The room went dead quiet. Heads snapped toward me. Cameras shifted away from the stage and swung directly toward my face.
Mother’s eyes widened in horror. "Nora! Get out of here!" she hissed, rushing toward the edge of the stage. "Security! Remove this woman!"
Two tall security guards stepped forward, but Marcus immediately stepped in front of them, holding up a certified federal injunction signed by a judge.
"Touch her," Marcus warned the guards softly, "and you’ll be named as co-conspirators in an active federal obstruction investigation. Read the seal."
The security guards paused, looking at the official stamp, and slowly backed away.
Celeste clutched the microphone tight, her face pale. "This is my crazy sister," she announced nervously to the crowd, trying to laugh it off. "She's... she's had severe mental issues since our father passed away. Please ignore her—"
"I have the audit logs right here, Celeste," I said, pointing up at the massive projector screen behind her.
Marcus pressed a remote control in his pocket. The glossy slideshow of smiling children vanished from the screen, replaced instantly by high-resolution tax forms, wire transfer receipts, and line-item bank statements showing thousands of dollars moving directly from charity accounts into luxury boutiques.
Gasps rippled across the crowded ballroom. Society women covered their mouths. Donors began whispering furiously to one another.
May you like
"That's fake!" Celeste screamed, her voice cracking as her polished facade shattered in front of two hundred people. "She made that up! She's a programmer! She altered the files!"
"Those are sworn IRS exhibits, Celeste," I said, stepping right up to the base of the stage. "And the board just voted to dissolve your foundation. You're finished."
