“We can all agree that I’m a very lucky man. Now, let’s eat. I need to take Delilah some food in a bit. She’s been working since she left this morning, and I’m certain she hasn’t stopped for more than a few minutes for a short break.”
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
DELILAH
“With all due respect, Cormac, the details don’t matter. Delilah and I are seeing each other, and that’s that.” Keenan speaks up, standing his ground about our relationship.
My father scoffs and looks Keenan up and down. I don’t mistake the way he’s looking at him or the disappointment in his eyes. “You’re not good enough for my daughter. You never have been.”
“Dad.” My voice breaks, shocked with the way he’s speaking to Keenan, but Keenan doesn’t look surprised in the least bit. Then again, he’s dealt with my father for a very long time.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Keenan comments, and my father grumbles something under his breath.
“You no good, rotten—” my father speaks up, letting every bit of his rage come to light.
“Enough! Now isn’t the place. We have money to raise tonight, and any reservations you may have about my relationship with Keenan . . . well, you can keep them to yourself. I’m a grown woman and I don’t need your approval to date who I want,” I hiss as I walked past my father and headed back into the house.
The events replay in my mind, and I feel sick. I haven’t spoken to my father since he discovered Keenan and I were in a relationship. I understand Keenan isn’t the man he would’ve picked for me, and I can respect it. I just won’t tolerate it. He can disagree with the choices I’ve made in my life. Hell, he can even complain about them behind my back, but what I won’t ever let him do is straight up disrespect them in front of me. It won’t happen. I refuse to let it.
He’s never thought much of Keenan. He’s always been like that. Keenan’s been less than me in my father’s opinion. He acts like I’m some sort of royalty, but we’re far from it. His attitude is despicable, honestly. All he should care about is the fact I’m happy, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t even called to schedule a brunch date between the two of us. I thought he might want to speak face-to-face about it, to try and understand my side, but over the last week, I’ve discovered I’m poorly mistaken.
It’ll soon be the end of the workday, so I shake my head and force my thoughts away. I have so much to do around here before I leave. Since the event, things have been going well and we had quite a few people agree to yearly gold sponsorships. It’ll bring in a good amount of cash for the people who need it. I made sure to personally call and thank the new donors for their generosity, ensuring them every bit of their contribution is going to help the underprivileged children who need it.
On one of the thank-you calls, a new donor asked me how much money we spent on clothing children last year during the winter months. I didn’t have the exact number off-hand, so I said I’d gather the information and give her a call back in a day or so once I had it.
I go into our software and conduct a search under all clothing items for the months from December through February. The number looks low, so low that it doesn’t seem correct to me. So, I do a search for the same range of months for the previous year. This doesn’t look right. For the most part, I know how many donors we have and what their membership levels are, and then we have monthly donations, as well as one-time donations. I’ve gone over the seasonal budgets for age groups and needs with Penelope, our accountant.
There’s no reason we’d only be spending ten thousand pounds during the winter. There are roughly half a million children in Northern Ireland, and of those, over a hundred thousand of them live in some sort of poverty. We work with local schools to ensure children of all age groups have clothes on their backs.
I pick up my phone and immediately dial Penelope’s number. She is a contracted employee of the charity, which means she has her own office. By the third ring, she answers.
“Hello?”
“Afternoon Penelope, it’s Delilah Quigley. Do you have a moment to chat about something?” Penelope has been working for my father for as long as I can remember. She handles everything for us: my father’s taxes, mine, the charity’s.
“Of course. Is something the matter?” Penelope is quick to pick up on my nervous tone. I don’t know why, but this isn’t sitting well with me. I’ve never had a reason to look further into the financial side. I trusted Penelope was taking care of things as instructed. She’s older, so I need to give her the benefit of the doubt. If there are issues, it could be something as simple as her having memory loss, dementia, maybe Alzheimer’s? I know it sounds cruel, but it’s a reality I need to be prepared for.
“I think I’ve found a discrepancy. Long story short, a donor asked me how much we donated for winter clothing. I went into the accounting software to take a look and the number shocked me.”
“Why is that, if you don’t mind me asking?” Penelope’s response makes my stomach tighten. I don’t like the way my nerves are taking over my body right now.
“It seems very low, given the platinum, gold, and bronze donors I know we have,” I tell her, calculating how that’s over a million pounds right there. How haven’t we spent over a hundred thousand pounds during the winter? It should be much more than the number in our software system.
“Has your father not spoken to you about the new ventures?” Penelope’s question comes as a shock to me.
“What do you mean?”
“The scholarships and school supplies? Most of the charity’s funds are going to educational purposes and feeding children whose parents can’t. He was supposed to tell you about the changes a few months ago. I apologize for not saying anything, but—”
“Penelope, I’ll be blunt here because I feel the extreme need to. My father may have been the one to start the charity, but he isn’t the one who runs it. I’m your boss, not my father, and the moment he came to you and requested anything, I should’ve been your first call. Seeing as you felt the need to undermine me, I don’t think it makes sense for you to continue to do our accounting for the charity.” I know I’m coming across crass to her, but I don’t care. I’m saying what she did, and the fact she was obviously so comfortable with it frustrates me. I knew when I became the COO it would become an adjustment for everyone, but it’s not an excuse. If I don’t act in a way that shows I have no problem cutting people off, no matter how long they’ve worked with the company . . . well, people will walk all over me. It’s something I won’t stand for.
Silence fills the other end of the line.
“I’ll see to it that my assistant comes to collect any files we may need, and that she delivers you a check for your services up until today.”
“You can’t do this,” Penelope laughs, like this is amusing to her.
“I can’t do what?”
