“The truth about what?” she asked.

“About the non-profit status of the Maribel senior living project,” I said.

From the hallway, a heavy thud shook the door frame.

Grant was throwing his weight against the wood now.

“Vivian!” he roared. “Stop this madness. We can talk.”

I ignored him, keeping my eyes fixed on the young woman in front of me.

“Grant didn’t just mismanage the funds,” I told Lila.

“He falsified the federal applications.”

Lila’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.

“He told the city council we were operating under a registered 501(c)(3) foundation to secure the public land grants at Harbor Point,” I said.

“I didn’t know the details of that,” Lila whispered. “I just did the marketing.”

“You signed the public disclosures as the executive director,” Diane interjected from the door.

Diane’s voice was calm, but it carried the weight of a judge’s gavel.

“That makes you a co-conspirator to municipal fraud, Miss Monroe,” Diane added.

Lila looked down at the black USB drive in her hand.

“If I confess on screen,” Lila said, “I go to jail.”