Chapter 13 - THE CHARITY BOARD
Helen Davenport’s charity board had always been her kingdom.
The Davenport Children’s Foundation hosted galas, auctions, luncheons, and scholarship dinners. Helen stood on stages beneath crystal chandeliers, speaking about “protecting vulnerable children” while photographers captured her perfect sorrow for magazines.
Thomas had donated millions.
Claire had once questioned why so little money seemed to reach actual children.
Helen had smiled and said, “Sweetheart, charity is more complicated than baking cookies.”
Claire never forgot the insult.
Now Thomas sat in his home office at midnight, the children finally asleep upstairs, and searched through foundation records Daniel had sent over.
Board members.
Donors.
Consultants.
One name kept appearing.
Lydia Shaw.
Former accountant. Foundation treasurer. Close friend of Helen Davenport. Resigned two weeks after Claire died.
L.
Thomas clicked open an old photo from a charity gala.
Helen stood beside Lydia, both women smiling.
Behind them was Claire.
Not smiling.
Watching.
Thomas zoomed in.
Claire had been looking at Lydia’s purse.
He did not know why that mattered.
Not yet.
A soft knock came at the office door.
Rebecca entered wearing one of Claire’s old sweaters.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Thomas opened his arms. She came to him slowly, like she was still learning she could.
He let her sit in the chair beside him.
“Dad,” she said, “did Mom know Grandma was bad?”
Thomas looked at the screen.
“I think she knew something was wrong.”
Rebecca swallowed.
“Grandma said Mom was nosy.”
Thomas gave a bitter smile.
“Your mom believed silence helped bad people.”
Rebecca looked at the charity photo.
“I remember that lady.”
Thomas went still.
“Lydia?”
Rebecca nodded.
“She came to Grandma’s house once. They were arguing in the blue room. Mom was there.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“What did you hear?”
Rebecca closed her eyes, trying to remember.
“Mom said, ‘You’re stealing from children.’ Grandma said, ‘You don’t know what it takes to maintain a name.’ Then the lady said, ‘If she talks, we all go down.’”
Thomas’s blood went cold.
Rebecca opened her eyes.
“I was little. I thought they meant a game.”
Thomas pulled her close.
“You remembered enough.”
At 6:14 the next morning, Detective Quinn called.
“We found Lydia Shaw.”
Thomas stood.
“Where?”
“Dead,” Quinn said. “Three years ago. Officially an overdose.”
Thomas looked at the charity photo again.
The dead woman smiling beside Helen.
“How many accidents does my family get?” he whispered.
May you like
Quinn answered quietly.
“That’s what I’m starting to wonder.”
