Chapter 40 Inside the Foundation

Chapter 40 Inside the Foundation
Ivy

The quiet hum of the Hale Foundation office was a different kind of calm than Lucian’s embrace. It was sharper, more dangerous. Every day, I learned more, saw more, and the knots in my stomach just got tighter.

My hands trembled a little as I closed the ledger. It was late, everyone else had gone home. I’d been staying later and later, telling Alistair I was just trying to get a better handle on things. He seemed to like that, thinking I was really settling into my ‘Zara’ role. But it wasn’t Zara who was looking. It was me, Ivy, the one who saw everything.

I pushed my hair back. My eyes hurt from staring at pages of numbers, figures, and charity reports. Most of it was boring, honestly. But then I found it. A pattern. Not a huge, flashing red light kind of problem. More like a series of tiny little wrong steps. Money going to places that didn’t quite fit, always small amounts, hard to notice. But when you added them up, they were big. Really big.

"It's just not right," I whispered to the empty room. 

I thought about Lucian, the way he held me, the trust in his eyes. He saw me. He told me I was strong. I needed to be strong now. This wasn't just about me anymore. This was about money meant for good things, just… disappearing.

The next morning, I found Alistair in his study. He was reading, looking tired, but still sharp. His eyes, even when he seemed weak, always felt like they were seeing through me.

"Good morning, Alistair," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. 

He looked up, slowly, putting his book down. "Zara. You're up early. Or perhaps I'm up late." He gave a small, dry smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, my dear?"

I walked closer, holding a slim folder. It wasn't the whole ledger, just copies of the pages I'd marked. "I've been looking over the foundation’s recent expenditures," I began, trying to sound formal and smart. "Especially the allocations for our overseas outreach programs."

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his gaze. "Oh? Finding them interesting, are we? Most find them rather dry."

"Some parts are," I agreed, trying to appear calm. "But I noticed a recurring pattern. Small discrepancies, nothing major on their own, but when aggregated, they amount to a significant sum." I paused. "Funds seem to be routed through a particular subsidiary that, on paper, has very little direct involvement with the actual projects it's meant to support."

Alistair leaned back in his chair. His expression hardened. "And what exactly are you suggesting, Zara?" His voice was low, careful.

"I’m not suggesting anything concrete," I said quickly, trying not to back down. "Just that it warrants a closer look. The reports from the ground don't always match the expenditures listed for certain areas."

He picked up a letter opener, turning it over and over in his fingers. The small movement made my nerves jangle. "Are you questioning my judgment, Zara?" Alistair's tone was sharp, but his gaze was calculating.

I met his eyes, trying to show courage. "I am questioning the efficiency of the financial pipeline, Alistair. Not your judgement, but perhaps the judgement of those you've entrusted with these operations." It was a gamble, putting it on someone else, but I couldn't accuse him directly. Not yet.

He stared at me for a long moment. I could feel the silence stretching, thick and heavy. His eyes, usually so hard, seemed to flicker. Was it surprise? Annoyance? Or something else? For a second, just a tiny one, I thought I saw a spark of admiration. And then, just as quickly, something like… fear. Or maybe just a deep, cold calculation that almost looked like fear when it was hidden.

"I appreciate your diligence, Zara," he finally said, his voice flat. "But I assure you, our financial structure is robust. These 'discrepancies' are likely just administrative oversights, or perhaps the complexities of international transfers you're not yet familiar with." He waved a hand, dismissing my folder. "Leave it. I’ll have my team look into your… observations. No need for you to trouble your pretty head with such tedious details."

"But Alistair..."

"That will be all, Zara," he cut me off, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. He picked up his book again, his eyes giving me a clear sign the conversation was over.

I stood there for a second, feeling a cold dread creep up my spine. He wasn't just dismissing me. He was shutting me down. He was testing me. And with that tiny flicker in his eyes, he was also seeing me. Really seeing me, for the first time maybe, not just as Zara, but as someone who could see things. Someone who could be a threat.

I bit my lip, clenching the folder tighter. "Of course, Alistair. As you wish." My voice was quiet, but inside, a storm was brewing.

I turned and walked out of the study, the heavy door closing softly behind me. My legs felt shaky. I had poked a sleeping dragon. I knew it. He was seeing how far I would push, what I would do. This was a game, and I had just made my first real move.

I went straight back to the small office I used. I needed to think. Alistair’s dismissal felt too easy, too quick. It made me feel like I’d missed something. Was I wrong? No, the numbers were off.

I pulled out the copies again, spreading them on the desk. My fingers traced the lines, the dates, the amounts. What was I not seeing? He called them administrative oversights. Could they be that simple? No. Not with that look in his eyes.

I remembered one specific entry, a small one, that had bothered me. It was for "consulting services" for an obscure project in a region far removed from the core foundation work. The amount was tiny, but it repeated a few times. I'd marked it, but hadn't focused on it. Now, I looked at the actual ledger copy I had made, not just my notes.

And there it was. So subtle, I’d missed it. A single digit, in one of the line items, had been slightly altered. A 4 that looked almost like a 7, or a 9 that was barely changed to an 8. Just enough to throw off the total by a tiny, unnoticeable amount, but enough to create a trail. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a cover-up.

I followed the trail, going back through an older report, one Alistair had called "irrelevant" earlier in the week. The "consulting services" were paid to a company listed under a name that now rang a bell in my brain, a name I’d seen on an old board member list displayed in the main hall. Not a direct Hale, but a distant relative. Someone from the extended family, a cousin twice removed, a "Mr. Declan."

My breath caught in my throat. This wasn't some mistake by a lowly accountant. This was inside. This was family. This was sabotage.