Chapter 6: Leo’s Confession

The urgency to find Leo Finch became paramount. Marty’s revelations about Beatrice’s absolute “guidance” solidified my understanding of Silas’s pathetic vulnerability. I knew Leo was crucial, but his timidity worried me. He was principled, but easily intimidated.

I called Leo’s office phone at the Sanctuary, but it went straight to voicemail. I tried his home number, hoping he wasn’t avoiding me. To my surprise, he picked up on the second ring, his voice thin and shaky.

“Eliza?” he stammered. “I… I need to see you. It’s urgent.”

“What’s wrong, Leo?” I asked, a wave of apprehension washing over me.

“Beatrice,” he whispered, his voice cracking with distress. “She sold it. Our only working vehicle.”

This was a specific, petty cruelty. The Sanctuary relied on that van for everything: medical appointments for the elderly, supply runs, transporting members who couldn’t drive. Selling it meant stranding vulnerable people, all for a perceived financial gain.

“The community van?” I asked, incredulous. “Why?”

“A ‘spiritual directive’,” he choked out, the sarcasm in his voice clear. “She told Silas it was ‘excessive materialism’ for the Sanctuary to own such a vehicle. Said we should encourage ‘divine reliance’ and ‘communal walking’.”

He sounded genuinely distraught, far beyond the quiet accountant I knew. His breaking point had clearly arrived.

“Where can we meet, Leo?” I asked, my mind racing. “Somewhere private. Not at the Sanctuary.”

He suggested a small, out-of-the-way diner on the edge of town, a place rarely frequented by Sanctuary members. I arrived first, choosing a booth in the back, nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee.

Leo entered a few minutes later, looking utterly haggard. His usually meticulous hair was disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot. He sat across from me, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Thank you for coming,” I said. “What happened with the van?”

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a shuddering breath. “She sold it, Eliza. The old Dodge van. For a pittance. Said the proceeds were for ‘urgent spiritual needs’.”

“And where did the money go?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Straight to Sacred Trust Holdings, of course,” he spat, a rare flash of anger in his eyes. “Another ‘investment’ in the Sanctuary’s future, she said.”

He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “But that’s not why I called you. Something else… something worse.”

He looked around the diner, as if Beatrice herself might be listening from the next booth. He was truly terrified.

“I overheard them, Eliza,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. “Silas and Beatrice. In his study, a few days ago. I was bringing him the monthly ledger.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. The direct evidence I needed.

“What did you hear?” I urged him.

“It was a ‘private prayer session’,” he recounted, mimicking Silas’s reverent tone. “But it wasn’t prayer. Not real prayer. She was coaching him. Explicitly coaching him.”

He paused, gathering his courage. “She was telling him exactly how to dismiss your questions. Calling them ‘worldly distractions.’ She told him to say you were succumbing to ‘demonic influence’ because of your recent troubles.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. To have my legitimate concerns brushed aside as “demonic influence,” and my past trauma—my divorce, my business failure—weaponized against me, was a personal cruelty beyond anything I had imagined. It wasn’t just gaslighting; it was an insidious attack on my character and my faith.

“She said to use your past trauma against you,” Leo continued, his voice heavy with disgust. “To tell you that your ‘fragile state’ was distorting reality. That you needed to ‘pray away your doubts’.”

He even remembered specific phrases, the chilling precision of Beatrice’s manipulation. “She told him to say, ‘Eliza, your heart is heavy with worldly cares, and your spirit is vulnerable to whispers of doubt. You must cleanse yourself with fasting and prayer before these truths can be revealed to you.’ It was a script.”

A script. That was the perfect word for it. Beatrice had literally been dictating Silas’s responses, turning him into a puppet. The petty cruelty was not just the gaslighting itself, but the deliberate, calculated use of my vulnerability to control me.

“Silas… he was just nodding along,” Leo said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Like a child. He truly believes she’s acting on divine instruction.”

“He’s manipulated, Leo,” I confirmed. “He’s terrified of losing the Sanctuary, and she’s exploiting that fear.”

“And now this van,” Leo continued, his voice rising in distress. “Elder Miriam needs her dialysis appointments. Old Brother Thomas relies on it for his groceries. They’re stranded, Eliza. Because of her ‘divine reliance’.”

The concrete consequences of Beatrice’s cruelty were clear: real people, vulnerable members of the community, suffering due to her greed. This wasn’t abstract financial fraud; it was deeply personal.

“I can’t take it anymore, Eliza,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I’ve seen the numbers, I’ve seen her influence. But hearing her coach him, hearing her tell him to lie and to twist faith like that… it broke me.”

He pulled out a small, encrypted USB drive from his pocket. “I’ve been keeping my own copies. Everything. The audit. The transfers. Even some internal memos I found.”

“You’re willing to help?” I asked, surprised by his sudden resolve.

He nodded, pushing the drive across the table. “I believe in justice, Eliza. And what she’s doing… it’s evil. She’s not saving the Sanctuary; she’s destroying it from the inside out. And I can’t be complicit in that anymore.”

His moral awakening was complete. He had overcome his timidity, spurred by the direct, tangible harm Beatrice was inflicting on the community. With Leo’s full cooperation, I finally had a powerful ally and undeniable evidence. The path forward, though dangerous, was now clear.