You still have the people who trusted you.
But only if you tell them the truth.
All of it."
My mother looked up.
"He can't do that."
"He has to."
"The church will fall apart."
"The church will fall apart if he doesn't.
People already know something happened tonight.
They saw the agents.
They heard the recordings.
If he tries to spin this, it will be worse."
Celeste pressed her lips together.
She looked at my father.
He looked at her.
Then he turned to me.
"You're right."
"I know."
"I'm sorry, Ava."
"I know that too."
He reached across the table.
I looked at his hand for a moment.
Then I took it.
It was the first time my father had reached for me in fifteen years.
The next morning, I sat in a conference room at the federal building in downtown Atlanta.
The assistant U.S.
attorney — her name was Sandra Cho — spread the evidence across the table.
"Fourteen wire transfers," she said.
"Totaling $3.2 million over thirty-one months.
The money moved through three shell companies before landing in accounts Blake controlled in the Caymans and one in Cyprus."
Marissa sat across from me.
She had changed into a simple blouse and jeans.
No designer dress.
No makeup.
"How much can be recovered?" Marissa asked.
Sandra looked at her notes.
"Approximately $1.9 million is still traceable.
The rest was spent or moved through cash channels we can't follow."
"He gambled away over a million dollars of charity money," Marissa said.
She said it flatly, like she was reading a weather report.
"Yes."
"And my father?"
Sandra paused.
"Your father signed authorization forms for eleven of the fourteen transfers.
He claims he didn't read them.
That may be true, but it doesn't remove his legal responsibility as the foundation's director."
"Will he be charged?" I asked.
"That depends on the U.S.
Attorney's office.
At minimum, he'll face civil penalties and removal as director.
The foundation will be restructured under court supervision."
I nodded.
"He'll cooperate."
"He'd better," Sandra said.
"His cooperation is the only thing that keeps this from becoming a criminal case for him."
Marissa looked at me.
"Did you know about Dad?"
"I knew he signed forms.
I didn't know how many."
"Would it have changed anything?"
"No.
He still should have read them."
Marissa exhaled.
"He never read anything.
Mom did all the paperwork for the church for thirty years.
The one time he needed to read something himself, he didn't."
"That's not an excuse."
"I know."
Sandra closed her file.