Chapter 4 - The Eighteen Missing Children
Adrian Relli arrived Thursday at 6:21 wearing a navy suit and the expression of a man who had never once been required to wait in a lobby.
He was Luca’s cousin by blood and opposite by design.
Where Luca moved quietly, Adrian entered rooms like applause should follow.
He saw Josie at the conference table.
His smile paused.
“New assistant?”
“Josephine Whitaker,” Luca said.
Adrian’s face changed so slightly Josie might have missed it if she had not spent the week watching people lie.
“Whitaker.”
“You know the name?” Josie asked.
He smiled again.
“Common enough.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Luca looked at her.
Not warning.
Permission.
Adrian sat.
“Are we doing personnel introductions now?”
Luca placed a copy of the old diner receipt on the table.
Adrian stopped smiling.
“Remember this?”
“No.”
“My father’s handwriting says, ‘Miriam has the real list. Do not let Adrian see it.’”
Adrian leaned back.
“Uncle Salvatore was paranoid at the end.”
“He was forty-eight.”
“Paranoia is not age-restricted.”
Josie watched him.
“What list?”
He looked at her.
“I have no idea.”
“Eighteen HeartBridge applications were denied after Priscilla Vance accessed them.”
Adrian’s eyes flicked to Luca.
“Why is your secretary discussing foundation matters?”
“Because one of the applications was her son’s.”
That landed.
Adrian recovered quickly.
“Then she has a conflict.”
Josie laughed once.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You’re worried about my conflict before you’re worried about eighteen sick children.”
His jaw tightened.
“This is exactly why staff should not be part of—”
Luca’s voice cut through.
“She is not staff in this conversation. She is a parent whose file was accessed without authorization.”
Adrian looked at him.
“Careful, cousin.”
The room cooled.
Luca leaned forward.
“I am.”
Mara entered with an outside auditor named Nina Patel.
The review had moved quickly.
Too quickly for whoever had expected no one to look.
Nina opened a laptop.
“HeartBridge received twelve million dollars in donor-restricted funds over three years.”
Adrian frowned.
“I know the numbers.”
“Then you know the disbursement records show eleven-point-four million committed.”
“Yes.”
“Hospital confirmations show only eight-point-nine million received.”
Silence.
Josie’s stomach turned.
Two and a half million dollars.
Not missing from a vague corporation.
Missing from children.
Nina continued.
“Some commitments were reversed properly. Others were not. Eighteen pediatric cases were marked funded internally, then denied to the families.”
Josie felt cold.
“Toby was marked funded?”
Nina looked at her.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-four thousand two hundred.”
Josie stared.
Almost exactly the gap she had been trying to solve.
“Where did it go?”
Nina turned the screen.
“Payments moved through a consulting vendor called North Pier Advisory.”
Adrian’s expression did not change.
Luca’s did.
“Who approved North Pier?”
Nina looked at him.
“COO office.”
All eyes went to Adrian.
He laughed.
“You think I personally review every charitable vendor?”
“No,” Luca said. “But your digital certificate approved the master agreement.”
“Delegated authority.”
“To whom?”
“My staff.”
“Name one.”
Adrian’s smile vanished.
“This is becoming theatrical.”
Josie spoke.
“My son asks for the cheap ice cream because he knows money is tight.”
Everyone turned to her.
She did not care.
“He’s eight. He knows the difference between the top shelf and the bottom shelf because he’s learned what not to ask me for. Eighteen families got letters telling them the fund was empty while your office sent money somewhere else. So forgive me if I don’t care whether this conversation feels theatrical.”
Adrian looked at her as if she had stepped onto his property.
“I don’t answer to you.”
“No,” Josie said. “But I think you’re going to answer to someone.”
Luca’s hand flattened on the table.
“Meeting over.”
Adrian stood.
“You’re taking her side?”
“I’m taking the side of records.”
“This family built you.”
“This family also taught me to recognize theft.”
Adrian’s face hardened.
He left.
The door closed.
Josie realized she was shaking.
Mara touched the water pitcher.
“Do you want—”
“I’m fine.”
Luca looked at her.
“No, you’re not.”
She shot him a glare.
“Don’t.”
He held up both hands.
“Bad phrasing.”
Nina continued after a pause.
North Pier Advisory existed.
Barely.
Registered to a lawyer in Delaware.
Its invoices described “outreach optimization” and “donor strategy.”
No employees listed.
No office.
Payments totaling 2.47 million.
Mara said, “Priscilla?”
Nina nodded.
“Her brother received payments from North Pier.”
Josie closed her eyes.
There it was.
Not jealousy.
Not only prejudice.
A gatekeeper protecting a scheme.
Priscilla had blocked candidates with medical or insurance backgrounds because they were more likely to recognize the foundation records.
Josie had never been rejected because of who she was.
She had been rejected because of what she might notice.
The humiliation in the lobby was real.
So was the larger fear behind it.
The next morning, Priscilla asked to meet.
Not at Relli Group.
At a coffee shop with cameras and people.
Josie agreed only after outside counsel approved.
Priscilla arrived without makeup.
She looked younger.
Smaller.
Still not innocent.
“I’m not apologizing for getting caught,” she said.
Josie folded her arms.
“Promising start.”
“I’m apologizing for what I said to you.”
“Why?”
“Because it was cruel.”
“Yes.”
“And because some of it was deliberate.”
Josie’s eyes narrowed.
Priscilla wrapped both hands around her cup.
“Adrian told me if certain candidates reached Luca’s office, my brother would lose his consulting contract.”
“Your brother was being paid with stolen charity funds.”
“I know that now.”
“You didn’t then?”
“I knew it was shady. I did not know children were being denied.”
Josie did not soften.
“What about the fake relationship with Luca?”
Priscilla looked ashamed.
“Adrian told me jealousy works better than policy. Women leave when you make them think they’re competing for a man.”
Josie stared.
“That sentence alone should get him slapped.”
“I won’t disagree.”
“Why me specifically?”
Priscilla reached into her bag.
She placed a photocopy on the table.
Josie recognized her original résumé.
Across the top, handwritten:
MIRIAM WHITAKER’S DAUGHTER. BLOCK.
Josie’s pulse jumped.
“Who wrote that?”
“Adrian.”
“Why did he know my mother?”
Priscilla looked toward the door.
“I don’t know.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
Priscilla swallowed.
“Your mother had something he’s been looking for since his uncle died.”
“What?”
“A notebook.”
Josie’s heart pounded.
“What notebook?”
“I heard him call it the blue book.”
Mrs. Hattie’s cardigan had been blue the morning of the interview.
Her mother’s old recipe box was blue.
A dozen meaningless blue things flashed through Josie’s mind.
“Where does he think it is?”
“With you.”
Josie’s phone rang.
Mrs. Hattie.
Josie answered.
“Hattie?”
The older woman whispered.
May you like
“Baby, there’s a man outside your apartment asking Toby where his grandma kept her papers.”
Josie stood so fast the chair fell backward.
