Cooper chuckled. “Shakespeare, right? I will miss your random classical references when this is all over.”
“And I’ll miss the fact that you actually find them impressive.”
* * *
Harvey did not look happy to see her, Felicity noted as she slid uninvited into the visitor’s chair opposite him.
“Ms. Simmons,” he said with a sigh, “I really am quite busy.” Harvey glanced over Felicity’s shoulder, and his eyebrows lifted. “Et tu, Dr. Cooper?”
“I’m an interested observer. It’s my program, after all.”
Harvey shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Really, now’s not the best time. I have a meeting”—he waved to the door—“so if you’ll just—”
“You only just got here,” Felicity said. “You don’t have a meeting.”
He blinked at her through his glasses. “I’m really very sorry. I’d like you to reschedule.”
Felicity stared at him for a moment, wondering which way to play this: diplomacy or Rambo? Elena wanted the former. But if Felicity was ever to be taken seriously in her own right, not just because Elena had anointed her, then she needed to show initiative. She had to know when to ignore the rules. Time to shake the tree and see what fell out.
“Where’d the money go?” Felicity asked, voice cool. “Enough evasion. There’s no vet-tech program. If there was, Cooper would know about it. You’d have consulted her. And your other vets, too.”
“That program is not ready to implement just yet.”
“Not ready? Dr. Cooper already costed it out in exhaustive detail for you months ago. I’ve seen her paperwork. It was thorough. You don’t need to do any further research to know whether the program’s viable. So what’s going on?”
“This is most inappropriate.” Anger flickered into Harvey’s eyes. “I don’t answer to you. You have no business—”
“I do, actually. That was Elena Bartell’s $1.4 million donation you vanished into thin air. She wants to know what you did with it.”
Harvey’s mouth dropped open. “That money was from Ms. Bartell?” he croaked.
“Yes. Before I involve the authorities, I’m now asking you one more time: where has her money gone?” She glanced around. “It’s clearly not on infrastructure. I’m sure I saw you still have Windows 98 on your computers.”
“Yes,” Cooper confirmed.
“So it makes me wonder,” Felicity said silkily, waving at a picture of Harvey standing in front of a BMW with his daughter, “if the money went somewhere closer to home.”
“What?” True outrage filled his features. “You think I’d steal from my own charity?” He shot to his feet. “I love Living Ruff.” His voice was shaking now. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. And you”—he turned to Cooper—“I can’t believe you’d side with her on this. Over me! You know me!”
“Harvey,” Cooper said quietly, “if it’s all aboveboard, just tell us where the money is.”
“A new program,” Harvey snapped. “Now leave. Both of you.”
Felicity left the office, Cooper on her heels, and they came to a stuttering halt near the round table in the center of the room.
Mrs. Brooks looked up. “I heard yelling. How on earth did you get Harvey to yell? He hasn’t done it in all the years I’ve been here.”
“Mrs. Brooks,” Felicity said, “I have reason to believe your boss has done something untoward with Living Ruff donations. What exactly, I have no idea. I’d like to have a thorough look at the books. I believe you can access them. I’m especially interested in seeing the Form 990 for the current financial year that’s not been submitted yet.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her business card. “You don’t have to agree. Just send it here. No questions asked.” She slid her card onto the table, pointing to her email address.
Mrs. Brooks made no move to take it, and her eyes narrowed into slits. “Mr. Clifford would never do what you’re saying.”
“And if he has?” Cooper asked.
“How can you possibly believe that? He would never!” Mrs. Brooks said, darting a glance to the corner office. “I would stake my life on it—he’d never steal for his own ends.”
“What if he’s stealing for other ends? Ends he thinks are good?” Cooper asked.
“He wouldn’t.” Mrs. Brooks folded her arms. “He’d never steal.”
“Then prove it,” Felicity said, tapping the card. “You can find the answers.”
Harvey stalked to the door of his office. “I told you to leave, Ms. Simmons. Go! And Dr. Cooper, get out of my sight. Do rounds. Now.” He spun on his heel, slamming the door behind him.
Mrs. Brooks gasped. “You’d better go. I’ll calm him down.”
“Will you look into the finances for me?” Felicity pressed.
“He’s no embezzler, Ms. Simmons,” she replied. “I promise you that. You’ve got the wrong idea about him. You can show yourselves out,” she added frostily.
Outside the building a moment later, Cooper sighed. “I hate this. I feel sick to my stomach.”
“Do you think Mrs. Brooks will do what I asked?”
“Maybe. She is loyal, but even she can tell Harvey’s not acting himself.”
“I truly don’t see what he hopes to gain by shouting at me and ordering me out,” Felicity said. “He must know the next step I have is calling in the fraud squad. They’ll go through his records with a fine-tooth comb anyway. So why not just be honest now?” She paused. “Unless”—Felicity inhaled—“he’s buying time. Scrambling for a solution, betting I won’t call in the authorities immediately.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe Mrs. B’s right. But can I remind you? He’s rich. He doesn’t need to steal a dime.”
