Chapter 4 - THE NUMBERS BENEATH THE FLOWERS
The independent auditor arrived at the greenhouse on a gray Tuesday, carrying a battered briefcase and no patience for family mythology. Her name was Lena Brooks, and she refused Catherine's offer of a private lunch.
"I need documents, not hospitality," Lena said. Daniel had requested a review with the foundation board's approval, which meant Vanessa could not legally decide which records the auditor saw.
The greenhouse had been closed since the incident. Yellow caution tape crossed the ruined orchid aisle, where the smell of wet soil still lingered beneath the scent of damaged flowers.
A covered piano waited near the reception doors, its polished wood reflecting a stripe of cold light. Place cards remained stacked in alphabetic order, as though the celebration had merely been delayed by weather.
Evelyn recognized the handwriting on the place cards. She had spent an evening checking each spelling, determined that every guest would feel welcomed rather than merely impressed by the Whitmore family's wealth.
The memory tightened her throat. She had prepared the smallest details with love while Vanessa apparently studied the one place a veil could catch. Even now, Evelyn resisted turning every old kindness into a clue.
Evelyn stepped inside for the first time since her fall. Her body tensed before she reached the arch. Maya noticed and remained close, offering company without treating Evelyn as fragile glass.
"We can stop," Maya told her. Evelyn took another breath. "I want to see it in daylight. I don't want that moment to own the entire place."
Daniel walked ahead, keeping a respectful distance. He had begun learning that protecting Evelyn meant listening to what she wanted, not deciding how much pain she should be allowed to face.
The florist had removed the broken lights. The shears were in police custody, and photographs documented the displaced shelf before it could be cleared. Nothing about the scene now looked accidental.
Lena examined Evelyn's restoration schedule against bank records supplied by the foundation. Several unusually large payments went to companies with plausible names but nearly identical mailing addresses.
Lena explained that shared addresses could have innocent causes, including registered agents and common office services. The problem was the pattern: invoice dates, payment approvals, and missing delivery records that contradicted one another.
Evelyn appreciated the distinction. Suspicion had cost her enough; she would not build another person's downfall on a convenient guess. Every number had to survive scrutiny by someone who did not already believe her.
One company claimed to have supplied irrigation controllers. Evelyn opened the installation drawings and showed the original system had been repaired, not replaced. The supposed new equipment appeared nowhere in the final inspection.
"This may reflect false invoicing," Lena said, careful with every word. "I need underlying bank confirmation, vendor ownership records, and explanations from the people who approved the payments."
Vanessa was suspended from approving new disbursements pending the review. Catherine protested the embarrassment of such a measure, but other trustees supported it once they saw the initial discrepancies.
By evening, Nora Bell returned Daniel's call. The accounting clerk sounded exhausted. She requested a meeting at a crowded café rather than the foundation office, where she feared her conversations were monitored.
Maya attended with Daniel while Evelyn stayed home to rest. Nora sat near the window, twisting a napkin beneath her cup. Her first words came before anyone had ordered.
"I authorized one of the transfers because Vanessa told me the board had approved an emergency vendor change." Nora stared down. "I found out later the approval document was never signed."
Daniel asked why she had not reported it. Nora swallowed. "My mother depends on my income. Vanessa reminded me how difficult it would be to find another job after being accused of negligence."
She showed them a preserved email instructing her to bypass the normal review queue. Lena would need to verify the message independently, but it gave investigators a specific transaction to trace.
"There's another thing," Nora said. "Vanessa asked me about the security system a week before the wedding. She wanted to know which staff members could turn off recording for private ceremonies."
Daniel looked up sharply. "Did you give her the information?" Nora shook her head. "I told her to ask the venue manager. Two days later, she said she'd taken care of privacy arrangements."
At home, Evelyn reviewed the café notes with a growing sense of dread. The attack no longer looked like a spontaneous explosion of jealousy. It appeared alongside deliberate efforts to prevent witnesses and suppress questions.
Yet she did not want to flatten Vanessa into a monster. She remembered the woman once holding a frightened child through a thunderstorm at a family picnic, years before bitterness consumed every room.
That memory mattered precisely because it did not excuse anything. Evelyn could acknowledge Vanessa had once shown tenderness while still demanding accountability for what she had chosen to become.
The following morning, an official email arrived from the foundation's outside counsel. It requested that anyone with relevant documents preserve them, including messages, photographs, project files, and the original wedding videos.
Daniel called Lena to ask whether Vanessa might destroy evidence. Lena replied that preservation notices had gone out and the board was securing authorized copies, but perfect control was impossible.
That afternoon, Evelyn discovered an unusual detail in the restored greenhouse plans. An old service room behind the orchid wall had been sealed during construction, supposedly because its ventilation was inadequate.
Her final drawings showed it remained accessible for maintenance. The room had contained archival cabinets before renovation, including the foundation's original project ledgers and correspondence from Daniel's father.
"Why would those records stay on-site?" Maya asked. Evelyn touched the old floor plan. "Because his father wanted the greenhouse's history preserved here, not hidden in a corporate office."
Daniel remembered a brass plaque his father had commissioned before his death: a dedication to open doors, public gardens, and second chances. The plaque had disappeared during the restoration.
May you like
Together they returned to the service corridor with the venue manager. The door stood unlocked, but inside, the archival cabinet was empty. Pale rectangles on the shelves marked where heavy binders had sat.
The manager checked his inventory. "Those were removed by a family representative three weeks ago," he said. "She signed the collection form herself." He turned the page so they could read the name: Vanessa Whitmore.
