Chapter 2 - The Audit Trail
The next morning, Hannah sat alone inside her Mercedes parked outside her Manhattan obstetrician’s office. Dr. Melissa Grant had examined her twenty minutes prior, her face tightening as she looked at the chart.
"Hannah, your blood pressure is creeping up," Dr. Grant warned, adjusting her glasses. "I know you have a lot on your plate with the foundation and the upcoming holidays, but you need to rest. Avoid unnecessary stress at all costs."
Hannah had almost laughed out loud. Avoid unnecessary stress. It sounded like a luxury item she could no longer afford.
Instead of driving home to the sprawling estate where Gabriel would undoubtedly offer more hollow reassurances, she pulled out her MacBook Pro. Work had always been her sanctuary, a place where logic reigned supreme. She bypassed her personal email, navigated directly to the Caruso Family Foundation’s secure accounting server, and logged in using her master administrator credentials.
She began auditing the year-end disbursement records.
Most entries looked standard—grants for local shelters, educational stipends, medical hardship funds. But as she scrolled deeper into the fourth-quarter reports, three invoices jumped out at her, flashing like neon signs in a dark room.
Hudson Community Restoration.
All three invoices were coded as emergency home repairs for widows supported by the foundation. Hannah frowned, leaning closer to the screen. She knew the beneficiaries of those specific grants personally. She had interviewed them. None of their homes had undergone any repairs whatsoever.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she checked the internal approval history. Every single payment had bypassed standard committee review and passed through one specific senior family adviser.
Raymond Caruso. Gabriel’s uncle.
Uncle Ray. The man who had held her hand and wept with her in the hospital corridor after her second miscarriage. The man everyone in the family trusted implicitly, praising his philanthropic heart and decades of dedicated service to the foundation.
Hannah stared at the monitor, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. Then, she cross-referenced the dates of the fraudulent invoices with Gabriel's calendar.
Each questionable payment had been approved within forty-eight hours of nights Gabriel claimed he was working late at the office.
Suddenly, her iPhone buzzed against the leather passenger seat. A text message from Gabriel illuminated the cabin:
Dinner tonight. Just us. I promise.
May you like
Hannah stared at the glowing screen. For the first time, a dark, chilling possibility took root in her mind: Gabriel’s affair and the missing foundation funds were not two separate betrayals. They were gears in the same machine. And if they were truly connected, Mallerie Keane might not be the woman Hannah needed to fear most.
She closed the laptop lid with a sharp click. She needed proof, not panic. And she knew exactly who to call.
