Chapter 4 - The Foundation Was Never About Charity
Rafe's voice cut through the ballroom.
“Sabine.”
She turned.
“You told me you'd never heard of Owen Ror.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You did. Thirty seconds ago.”
“That isn't what I meant.”
Billy stepped forward.
“You met him three times.”
Sabine's eyes narrowed.
Billy continued.
“March 14. April 2. May 19.”
“How would you know?”
“My father kept calendars.”
Sabine smiled coldly.
“Dead men's calendars aren't evidence of theft.”
“No.”
Billy looked toward the ballroom doors.
“But invoices are.”
Two attorneys entered.
Behind them came Deardra Ror in her wheelchair.
Billy froze.
“Mom?”
Deardra smiled.
“You weren't answering your phone.”
Billy hurried toward her.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“Neither should you, according to half the people in this room.”
“Mom.”
“I got tired of waiting.”
Rafe approached.
“Mrs. Ror?”
Deardra looked at him.
“You're Santangelo.”
“Yes.”
“My husband didn't trust your family.”
A few guests audibly inhaled.
Rafe almost smiled.
“Smart man.”
Deardra opened a leather folder.
“Owen mailed this to me two weeks before he died.”
Sabine stared at it.
Deardra noticed.
“You recognize the envelope.”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
Deardra removed several documents.
“My husband discovered his designs were being manufactured through subcontractors without his permission. He started tracing purchase orders.”
Billy stared at her mother.
“You never showed me these.”
“Because you were already destroying yourself trying to prove it.”
“Mom—”
“I was afraid I'd lose you too.”
Deardra handed the papers to Billy.
There it was.
A chain of companies.
Food logistics.
Linen.
Waste processing.
All three serving the Windmir.
All connected through layered holding companies to a manufacturing and distribution network.
And that network had processed undeclared production for Second Thread.
Billy whispered, “The trucks.”
Deardra nodded.
“You were right.”
Rafe looked through the documents.
His expression darkened.
Sabine crossed her arms.
“Do you seriously expect anyone to believe my charitable foundation stole dress designs through garbage trucks?”
Billy shook her head.
“The trucks aren't about dresses.”
That silenced the room.
Rafe looked at her.
“What are they about?”
Billy turned toward the Second Thread banner.
“Your foundation says it gives young designers their first opportunity.”
“Yes,” Sabine said.
Billy opened another document.
“How many?”
Sabine frowned.
“What?”
“How many designers did you fund last year?”
“That information is public.”
“Then answer.”
Sabine looked toward her foundation director.
He stared at the floor.
Billy continued.
“The annual report claims money went to workshops, materials, mentorship programs, and production grants.”
She held up Deardra's documents.
“But some of those vendors trace back to the same companies servicing this hotel.”
Rafe understood first.
“False billing.”
Billy nodded.
“And possibly more.”
Sabine laughed.
“This is insane.”
“Then open your records.”
“I don't have to prove anything to a waitress.”
Rafe looked at her.
“No.”
He removed his phone.
“But you do have to prove something to the man whose companies host your foundation, insure tonight's event, and provide half your private financing.”
Sabine's confidence finally cracked.
“Rafe, don't.”
He made a call.
“Freeze every Santangelo-controlled payment connected to Second Thread.”
Sabine grabbed his arm.
“You can't do that!”
Rafe looked down at her hand.
She released him.
He ended the call.
“Apparently I just did.”
Puit rushed forward.
“Mr. Santangelo, we should handle this privately.”
Billy looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because this is a hotel, not a courtroom.”
Marisol appeared behind him.
“No, Gideon.”
Puit turned.
“What?”
“You taught us not to argue even when we're right.”
Marisol removed her employee badge.
“I think we've followed that rule long enough.”
Then one waiter removed his badge.
Then another.
Then a bartender.
Within seconds, nearly the entire service staff stood behind Billy.
Sabine looked around.
May you like
The people she had never considered important were suddenly the only people standing.
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