The sirens screamed past Pendelton’s office building. We heard them fade into the distance, heading downtown. Pendelton slumped back in his chair, shaking his head.
“Wrong building,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “False alarm.”
He still looked utterly terrified. Claire simply stared him down.
“Who was the representative, Arthur?” she asked again, her voice flat. “Who gave you the orders?”
He looked at the floor, then at me. “I can’t betray them. My life would be over.”
“Your life is already over, Arthur,” I said, a cold certainty in my voice. “You committed fraud. Ten years ago, and again now if you don’t cooperate.”
He finally lifted his gaze. “He’s powerful, Evelyn. Julian. He has connections everywhere.”
The confession hung in the air. Julian. It was always Julian.
I pulled out my phone. “I’m calling the Greenwich Police Department, Arthur. Right now. We have bank records, and we have your confession.”
He watched me, defeated. “He’ll ruin me.”
“He already did,” Claire cut in. “He ruined you the day he paid you to cover up a living child.”
I filed a formal report with the Greenwich Police, detailing the missing medical records, the swapped medication, and the documented wire transfer to Pendelton. They assigned Detective Thomas Dupont to the case.
Detective Dupont was a man of quiet intensity, with tired eyes that missed nothing. He met me at St. Jude Academy the following day.
The polished marble floors, usually a source of pride, now felt cold and impersonal.
“Ms. Harrington, your report is disturbing,” he said, flipping through his notebook. “Medical record tampering, alleged fraud… it points to a serious family matter.”
“It’s about my granddaughter,” I stated, my voice firm. “Lily Marsh.”
“Ah, the scholarship student,” he murmured, nodding. “I’ll need to review her file, if you don’t mind.”
I led him to the admissions office, where the registrar, Mrs. Henderson, a meticulous woman with neat grey hair, quickly retrieved Lily’s confidential scholarship records.
Dupont sat at a visitor’s desk, carefully poring over the documents. He paused at one page, his brow furrowing.
“This is unusual,” he remarked, tapping a finger on a line item. “Lily Marsh’s annual tuition… it’s $18,000, correct?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “A significant sum for a scholarship student.”
He pointed. “It states here the funds are paid by an anonymous charitable foundation. ‘Orion Star Enterprises.'”
I nodded. “Yes, the foundation preferred to remain private. It’s not uncommon for our elite benefactors.”
Dupont typed “Orion Star Enterprises” into his phone. He looked up, his expression grim.
“It’s a shell corporation,” he said, “registered in the Cayman Islands. And the sole director, according to public records, is a certain Mr. Samuel Pendelton.”
My heart leaped into my throat. “Pendelton? Arthur Pendelton?”
“His cousin, apparently,” Dupont confirmed. “A very convenient way to funnel money anonymously.”
I stared at the document, the truth hitting me with crushing force. Lily wasn’t just placed with Marcus. She was kept *close*.
Not by chance, not by charity, but by a meticulously constructed financial scheme, all to ensure she remained under Julian’s watchful eye, under the guise of an anonymous charitable grant. He was paying for her proximity.
“He wanted her here,” I whispered, the irony like a bitter taste in my mouth. “At St. Jude. He put her right under my nose, thinking I’d never look.”
Detective Dupont closed the file, his gaze sharp. “This confirms a deliberate, ongoing deception, Ms. Harrington. Your son has much to answer for.”
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