Then I looked at Beatrice.
“Arthur would never have agreed to this.”
“No,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t.”
I pulled out the chair opposite her.
“Then we’re going to find out who’s doing it.”
That was the beginning.
I just didn’t realize how far Caroline had already gone.
I called our family attorney, Thomas Greene, the next morning.
Thomas had known Arthur for more than thirty years. He was seventy-two, spoke carefully, and had the irritating habit of removing his glasses whenever someone told him something particularly foolish.
When I explained what I’d found, he removed them.
“Margaret, have you signed any documents authorizing the sale?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Any transfers of foundation funds?”
“No.”
He leaned back.
“Then I think we have a serious problem.”
Over the following week, Thomas helped me request records from the foundation’s independent accountant.
At first, the accountant was reluctant to speak with me. Caroline had apparently told the administrative staff that I was experiencing memory difficulties and becoming confused about my late husband’s estate.
I sat in Thomas’s office listening to that explanation.
Then I began to laugh.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I finally understood what Caroline was doing.
She wasn’t merely pushing me out of the foundation.
She was preparing an explanation for why nobody should believe me when I discovered what she had done.
Thomas obtained the financial records through the foundation’s existing oversight procedures.
Buried among hundreds of legitimate expenses was an extraordinary transfer.
Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
The money had been withdrawn from an account reserved for essential repairs and housing services.
The recipient was a limited liability company called Blue Cypress Property Group.
I’d never heard of it.
