Chapter 4 - The Rooms That Were Never Repaired

Nicholas arrived at Eleanor House shortly after nine the next morning. It stood on a narrow street behind the hospital, its brick entrance softened by climbing ivy and a brass plaque bearing Eleanor's name. Inside, a volunteer was setting out bowls of cereal. A father slept upright in a chair, one hand resting on the stroller beside him.

For a moment Nicholas remembered his wife's last winter. She had disliked the pity of visitors and worried instead about people who had to sleep in hospital corridors because they could not afford a room. He had promised to help. When she died, fulfilling that promise was one of the few decisions he had made without hesitation.

Ruth met him beside the reception desk. “They told us the west wing had to close this weekend,” she said, handing him a printed notice. “We were preparing emergency placements.”

The notice carried the foundation letterhead and Adrian Pike's name. It described urgent plumbing repairs and listed Halden Services as the contractor. Nicholas had never heard of the company.

“Has anyone inspected the plumbing?”

“Not since February. The inspection found normal wear, nothing that required us to close.”

Ruth took him upstairs. Six rooms opened off a quiet corridor, each with a small bed, a sofa, and a desk where frightened parents sometimes answered work emails. Two were occupied. The other four were ready for arrivals that afternoon. There were no barriers, tools, building materials, or water stains.

Clara Weston joined them with a thin folder. She had worked with the foundation before and knew better than to confuse a confident explanation with a supported one. Rather than ask about Vivienne, she placed a payment schedule on the desk.

“Six advances,” she said. “Eighty thousand dollars each, beginning seven weeks ago. Four hundred eighty thousand in total, all described as preliminary west-wing work. Every payment was released under Pike's accounting credentials.”

“Who approved them?” Nicholas asked.

“The supporting forms show a project acknowledgment signed by Vivienne Hart. She's listed as the event committee chair. That isn't an authorized financial position.”

“She had permission to organize the benefit.”

“Exactly. She had no authority to approve construction spending. Pike either mistook that authority or used it as cover.”

Clara showed him another page. Each invoice fell below the threshold that required a second trustee's review. Taken separately, the numbers looked routine. Together they represented money that should have paid for years of family rooms and meals.

“Can it be recovered?”

“I've asked the bank to trace the funds. We may be able to freeze what hasn't moved onward. Don't assume we can recover everything.”

Nicholas accepted the warning. He knew how easily money disappeared when people worked to hide it. What unsettled him was the calmness of the paperwork: six ordinary-looking invoices, six signatures, a promise of repairs nobody had performed.

Back at the estate, Maria was sitting with Lucy beneath the library window. Lucy held a stuffed rabbit and had stopped crying whenever a door opened, but she watched the hallway carefully. Dr. Shah had told Maria the marks should fade. The fear could not be measured as neatly.

“I went to Eleanor House,” Nicholas told Maria. “Your blue envelope may have concerned payments for repairs that never happened.”

She looked confused. “I didn't know anything about the money.”

“I know. I'm not asking you to account for it.”

Maria glanced toward Arthur. “I remembered something. When Miss Hart came into the study, she said, 'Where is the Halden copy?' I didn't know what Halden meant. I told her I'd given the envelope to Mr. Bell. That's when she asked whether I'd read it.”

“Did you?”

“No, sir.” Maria's cheeks colored with frustration. “I told her that too. It didn't make a difference.”

“Why didn't you tell me those exact words yesterday?”

“Because I didn't think anyone would care what she called an envelope.”

Nicholas sat in the chair opposite her. “Small things can matter. But you do not have to become an investigator to keep your job. Tell Gabriel only what you remember, and don't guess.”

Lucy looked up from her rabbit. “Mama says guessing gets stories wrong.”

Arthur's mouth softened. Nicholas found himself smiling for the first time since the foyer.

“Your mama is right.”

Later, Arthur accompanied Nicholas to the service courtyard. The older man had requested the conversation away from Maria and Lucy. He looked troubled enough that Nicholas stopped walking.

“One of the attendants, Elise, came to see me,” Arthur said. “She was in the kitchen when Lucy took the cookie. She confirms the child was given permission by the cook. Miss Hart walked in after that.”

“Who grabbed Lucy?”

“Elise says she saw Miss Hart take her wrist near the tea trolley. She heard Lucy cry out. She was afraid to challenge your fiancée.”

“Why did Elise wait?”

“Miss Hart warned everyone that Maria had stolen confidential material. Elise has a brother she helps support. She thought she'd lose her position.”

Nicholas turned toward the long windows of the house. The staff had treated Vivienne's authority as though it were his own. He had never instructed them to do that. But he had not made the distinction clear, either.

“Tell Elise she can give her account privately and without risk to her job,” he said. “Put the same protection in writing for everyone.”

That afternoon, Clara called. Halden Services was registered to an address used by Hart Development, a small property company belonging to Vivienne's family. Halden's listed director was not Vivienne. He was an accountant employed by her father, Leonard Hart.

Nicholas stood at the library window with the telephone to his ear.

“Does that prove she received the money?” he asked.

“No. Not by itself. It does give us a reason to ask where the transfers ended. I've recommended that the foundation's counsel preserve bank records immediately.”

Another call arrived before he could thank her. It was Vivienne, speaking with a bright steadiness he had not heard since he came home.

“Darling, Father is coming to dinner,” she said. “He wants to clear up the foolish rumors about the foundation. We're a family, Nicholas. We should settle family matters at home.”

Nicholas looked at the printed notices, the payment records, and the handwritten log on his desk.

“Your father can speak to the foundation's lawyer,” he said.

Vivienne's voice cooled. “You don't understand what refusing him will mean.”

“Then he'll have to explain that as well.”

She hung up.

An hour later, Gabriel brought Nicholas a copy of a courier receipt. A large packet had been sent that morning from Hart Development to the foundation, marked for urgent trustee approval. The description on the receipt was only three words: WEST WING DISPOSITION.

May you like

[COMPLETED] “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DRESS! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN OLD SEAM...

[COMPLETED] At the Mafia Boss's Engagement Party, I Served His Hungry So...

[COMPLETED] The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Tried to Dismiss His Father’s Loyal...

Nicholas read them twice.

Someone had been paid to renovate rooms that had never been touched. Now, before anyone could inspect the work, someone wanted the foundation to approve disposing of the wing itself.