Chapter 7 - The Locked Foundation Account

Nolan arrived at my office at 6:58 the next morning wearing a navy suit and his usual calm smile.

The smile disappeared when he saw Evan standing beside me.

“What's going on?”

I placed the security photo on the desk.

“Your employee was outside my house last night.”

Nolan barely looked at it. “That's Greg Mercer. He works in facilities. Maybe he was—”

“At my house at midnight?”

“I don't know.”

“Try harder.”

He sighed as if I were being unreasonable. “Daniel, you've had a rough couple of years. Maybe don't jump to conclusions.”

I slid another document across the desk.

Nolan stopped breathing for half a second.

I saw it.

“Where did the rest go?” I asked.

“You'd have to ask Lakeview.”

“The transfers passed through our office.”

“Foundation accounting is separate.”

“You approved three of them.”

“So did you.”

That hit me.

He opened a folder and pushed forward authorization pages with my electronic signature.

My name was on every one.

I remembered none of them.

Nolan leaned back. “You signed a lot after Claire died.”

His tone was almost gentle.

Almost.

I looked at the dates.

One transfer for $480,000 had been approved on the day of Claire's funeral.

I stared at it.

“I was at the cemetery.”

Nolan's eyes flickered.

“Digital approvals can be scheduled.”

“Not by me.”

The room went silent.

Evan closed the door.

Nolan stood. “I don't appreciate being accused.”

“Sit down.”

“Daniel—”

“Sit.”

He did.

I asked him one question at a time. Password access. Foundation credentials. Lakeview contacts. FuturePath Chicago.

At that name, his left hand tightened around the chair arm.

There it was again.

A crack in the polish.

Then my assistant knocked and entered without waiting.

“I'm sorry, but this is urgent.”

She held out a tablet.

Lakeview had sent an emergency email to every parent.

NOTICE OF SAFETY CONCERN.

The message described Maya Bennett as a “former student with a history of theft, manipulation, and unstable behavior.” Parents were instructed to report any contact.

At the bottom was a photograph of Maya.

Sophie was in the background.

My eight-year-old daughter's face had been sent to twelve hundred families.

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