Chapter 5 - Vivian Blake
Vivian Blake had spent twelve years building a reputation around generosity.
Her foundation funded library computers, music programs, college counseling, and emergency food vouchers.
Her name appeared in Northbridge High’s annual reports beneath phrases like community leadership and transformational giving.
Grace had once admired her.
That felt embarrassing now.
Detective Ortiz interviewed Dana for nearly an hour.
Dana remembered very little about the Arden folder.
“It was navy blue. Gold lettering. That’s it.”
“Did Mrs. Blake know you saw it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you ever mention it?”
“No.”
That last answer mattered.
If Dana had never mentioned the folder, then Vivian could not reasonably know she remembered it.
Grace asked, “Could Arden be legitimate?”
Ortiz nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then we don’t know anything.”
“We know the company received foundation funds. We are determining why.”
Grace almost smiled.
Detective language again.
At school, Principal Keller called Grace and Mason into his office.
He showed them a still frame from Mason’s orientation footage.
Monday, 10:47 a.m.
The chemistry corridor.
A person in Sierra’s white-and-navy jacket stood beside Grace’s backpack.
The person’s back faced the camera.
Then another frame.
The figure bent down.
Then another.
The student walked away.
Still no face.
Grace clenched her fists.
“It’s her.”
Keller said, “It is someone wearing a jacket consistent with hers.”
“You sound like Ortiz.”
“That’s probably healthy.”
Mason enlarged the image.
“Wait.”
He pointed toward the person’s right hand.
A ring.
Large oval stone.
Sierra wore one constantly.
A pale-blue sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds.
Keller photographed the detail.
Grace whispered, “She took my ID.”
“It strongly suggests the person in the footage may be Sierra.”
“May be?”
Keller looked at her.
“If we get this wrong because we’re angry, we become the thing you’re angry at.”
Grace hated the sentence because it was correct.
At noon Vivian Blake arrived with attorney Meredith Shaw.
Grace saw them through the administrative windows.
Vivian looked calm.
Sierra did not.
She wore no jewelry.
No white-and-navy jacket.
Her hair was pulled back.
When Grace passed, Sierra looked at her.
For half a second Grace saw something unexpected.
Not hatred.
Desperation.
Then Vivian touched Sierra’s elbow and guided her into Keller’s office.
Hours later, Sierra was formally suspended for the hallway assault while the theft investigation continued.
She admitted shoving Grace.
She admitted kicking the notebook.
She denied taking the ID.
She denied entering Keller’s office Tuesday.
She claimed her jacket had been missing since Monday evening and someone must have used it.
Grace heard about the explanation from Keller.
“Did she report the jacket missing?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
Keller continued.
“She says it reappeared in her car Wednesday morning.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
Grace blinked.
“You agree?”
“I agree the timing requires investigation.”
That afternoon Vivian made an announcement through the foundation.
She was temporarily stepping away from Northbridge fundraising activities because “false speculation involving family members threatened to distract from students.”
Mason read it aloud from his phone.
“False speculation.”
Grace rolled her eyes.
“Elegant.”
“She has a publicist.”
“Of course she does.”
Then Mason’s humor disappeared.
“My dad says people like Vivian don’t get rich stealing fourteen thousand dollars.”
Grace looked at him.
“Your dad knows her?”
“My dad does financial compliance for a bank.”
“You never mentioned that.”
“You never asked what my dad does.”
Fair.
“What does he think?”
“He doesn’t know details. I only asked hypothetically.”
Grace narrowed her eyes.
“You asked your banker father hypothetically about a school foundation transferring donations to a consulting company?”
“I changed names.”
“Mason.”
“He said if anything is wrong, fourteen thousand is probably not the story. It’s probably the thread.”
Grace remembered the missing blue ledger.
Seven thousand six hundred dollars already missing before Tuesday.
Maybe Mason’s father was right.
The envelope was a thread.
Somebody had ripped it out before others could follow where it led.
That evening Grace had to work.
Three nights a week she stocked shelves at Delaney’s Market.
At 8:15, while carrying cereal boxes toward aisle six, she saw Sierra.
Grace stopped.
Sierra stood near the pharmacy entrance wearing sweatpants and a baseball cap.
No mother.
No attorney.
No friends.
Sierra saw Grace.
For once she did not sneer.
She walked toward her.
Grace stepped back.
“If you touch me, every camera in this store—”
“I’m not going to touch you.”
“Good.”
Sierra glanced around.
“You need to stop.”
Grace almost laughed.
“You literally shoved me into lockers yesterday.”
“I mean the investigation.”
“I’m not investigating you. Police are.”
“You keep talking.”
“About what happened to me.”
Sierra lowered her voice.
“You don’t understand my mother.”
Grace stared.
“What does your mother have to do with my ID?”
Sierra’s face tightened.
“I didn’t say she did.”
“You brought her up.”
“Forget it.”
Sierra started away.
Grace spoke.
“Did you take the envelope?”
Sierra stopped.
She did not turn.
Grace tried again.
“Did you take my ID?”
Still nothing.
“Did your mother tell you to?”
Sierra finally faced her.
There were tears in her eyes.
Grace had never seen Sierra cry.
“If you think this is about fourteen thousand dollars,” Sierra whispered, “you have no idea what you’re standing in.”
Grace’s pulse quickened.
“Then tell me.”
Sierra shook her head.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Sierra’s expression broke for one second.
“Because she’ll destroy me too.”
Then she walked out of the store.
Grace stood beneath fluorescent lights holding a box of cereal.
Twenty minutes later she told Dana everything.
Dana called Detective Ortiz.
And by midnight investigators were asking a new question.
Not simply whether Sierra had stolen the envelope.
May you like
But whether she had been sent to steal it.
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