“Why would they suspect you if it was her username and password?” Seven asked, indignation creeping into his voice.
Neith shrugged. “Because the laptop was mine. Nobody has access to it but me. Brioni would have had to have known my credentials to access my laptop, and if she did, why would she have used her own credentials to make those bogus transactions? She’s a smart girl, but if she was trying to frame me, why would she have used her own information for the most damning part?”
“To make it look like a cover-up?” Francesca suggested. “Maybe she was trying to muddy the waters?”
Neith frowned. “Possibly. She was supposed to be the one promoted. She was—is—the assistant finance director. She works directly underneath me. When Damian left, she was supposed to replace him, but they promoted me instead. They said it was a reward for all my hard work over the last twenty plus years.”
“A reward?” Enzo prompted.
Neith nodded. “I told them I wasn’t sure I was qualified for the position. I was great at getting donors to open their checkbooks, but I didn’t know anything about accounting. Grant insisted that I could learn on the job, that it was new softwareand they were all learning it with me. Called my promotion a seniority thing and said Brioni would be there to help me. It was too much of a raise to pass up.” There was a bitterness to her words. “Maybe that should have been my first clue that this was all a set-up.”
“You couldn’t have known that they were trying to frame you for embezzlement, Mama,” Seven said softly.
She didn’t answer, just picked at the flaky top of her pastry with one perfectly manicured nail.
“So, this Brioni had to have been pretty upset that she got passed over for the promotion, no?” Enzo asked.
Neith shook her head. “She didn’t seem upset. She said it was kind of a relief not to have the added responsibility. If anything, she wasoverlyhelpful, constantly hovering. She did everything she could to make the transition easier for me.” As his mother spoke, Seven could see the realization dawning behind her eyes. “I guess that would have been the perfect way to cover her tracks.”
“We’ll look into Brioni, but is there anyone else you can think of?” Enzo asked. “Anyone at all?”
Seven shifted in his seat. “What about that guy you had to fire? Could he be behind this?”
Her brow furrowed, a look of confusion crossing her face. “Who? Marcus? I suppose anything is possible, but he was just a loud mouth with connections. I’m not sure he’s capable—mentally—of pulling off this level of deception. Besides, Grant said he had already moved on to a ‘much better’ job.”
Disappointment settled in Seven’s chest. Of course, someone like that would land on their feet. But Brioni was still a viable suspect. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“Did you notice anything off about the accounting? Transactions you didn’t authorize? Vendors you didn’trecognize?” Enzo continued. “Did anything ring any alarm bells for you?”
Neith opened her mouth like she was about to say no, but then she hesitated.
“Did you think of something?” Enzo prodded.
“Yes?” she said, tone unsure. “But it was before my promotion. And it didn’t have anything to do with accounting.”
“Tell us anyway,” Francesca said gently. “You never know what might be important later.”
Neith gave a jerky nod, her forehead creasing, making her look her age. “Every year, we have a gala—that’s how I met your mother, actually.” Neith smiled at Francesca, who smiled back, patting her hand. “Planning the gala has been my job for the last decade. Every year, I have to fight for something other than that same rubber chicken fundraiser that everyone dreads.”
“But something was different this year?” Enzo pressed.
“We started planning around eight months ago,” she said. “Our budget was lower than usual, so I had an idea to help bring in more funds. I decided to invite not only the donors, but some of our success stories. The women we helped. I wanted to show the donors how their funds truly helped real people.”
Seven frowned. “And someone didn’t like that?”
Neith paled. “No. I couldn’t find them.”
“Find who?” Enzo asked, brow furrowed.
“The women. We have a handful of our success stories on the wall in the lobby. The photos we use in our marketing materials to show proof of concept. There are dozens of these success stories in our files. Hundreds even, maybe. Women I personally helped find placement with job services and housing opportunities. But when I went looking for them…I couldn’t find them.”
“Any of them?” Francesca asked.
Neith shrugged. “A few were easy to track down. They were locals. They seemed happy to help. But the more women I tried to contact, the more bizarre it became that I couldn’t,” Neith said, shaking her head, like she was remembering her own puzzlement.
“Did you bring this to anyone’s attention?” Seven asked.
Neith nodded. “Our director, Grant. He laughed me off. He reminded me that we deal with a largely transient population, and that while we had many success stories, we could only track people for so long before they moved away or lost contact with us. He said that we were tied to some of the worst times in these women’s lives and it wasn’t weird that some of them wanted to leave the past in the past.”
