Lorna leaned forward, her silver bracelets clinking against the mahogany table. “Then why is Grant’s name on the bank account, Vanessa?” Lorna asked.

“As executive director, I oversee all major vendor accounts,” Grant said, stepping toward the table. “It’s a standard safety measure for high-budget transitions.”

“Eighty-four thousand dollars is not a standard transition budget for a foundation of our size,” Arthur said. He adjusted his glasses and looked at the ledger again. “And there is no record of board approval for this contract.”

I pulled the envelope from my pocket. The paper was thick, cream-colored, and bore the emblem of my mother’s personal stationery.

“There was no board approval because my mother was already looking into these transfers before she died,” I said.

The room went quiet. The only sound was the steady hum of the heating vent in the corner.

Helen Caldwell sat up straighter in her high-backed chair. Her eyes locked onto the envelope in my hand.

“Emma, your mother was very ill at the end,” Helen said, her voice smooth and measured. “She was confused about many things.”