Prologue #2
The journalist side of Auralia wanted to present a set of facts and see where that trail led.
“You all know of his good work,” Lambton continued.
“I’ll let him say howdy and take some of your questions as we pass the bucket.
As you reach for your wallets to donate, please remember the sacrifices that these Marines have made for you and your family, then consider what you should add to our collection.
Ladies,” Lambton said toward the stage wings, “if you could please start those buckets up and down the aisles.” He faced the audience once again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the hero for our heroes, please give a warm welcome to Wesley Price.”
Auralia felt her heart gallop. She was going to get him. This was it.
“Ah, now thank you all. That’s such a kind welcome.
I’m a humble man. Not much for speechifying even amongst friends like yourselves.
I just like to do my quiet part in caring for my brothers and sisters that I served alongside in the Marines.
It is the privilege of a lifetime to be of some service through HONOR, an acronym that many of you know stands for Helping Our Nation’s Outstanding Marines Recover.
Maybe some of you here in the audience have benefited from our good work.
I hope so.” He put his hand over his heart.
“Now, while you are showing your gratitude to our fine servicemen and women with your generous donations today, I’d be happy to answer some of your questions. ”
“Auralia Rochambeau, Global Reach News and World Reports,” Auralia spoke clearly into her mic.
“Yes, ma’am, what do you have on your mind this fine evening?” Price sent her an aw-shucks grin.
“I have a few related questions that I’d like to pose and gain clarity around the implementation of the HONOR charities.”
“Happy to oblige.”
“My research indicates HONOR is a 501(c)(19) veterans charitable organization. But you are a one-man band when it comes to the HONOR charity.” She said it brightly, so he felt flattered by her noticing how streamlined they were able to work.
“Yes, ma’am, we’re a small organization.
” He smiled at her broadly, rocking back on his heels, exuding a humbleness that politicians mentioned when introducing Price—salt of the earth, the best of us, and other drivel.
“HONOR keeps our overhead to a minimum, but there’s no way I could do this all on my own. ”
“It’s you and the call center that you contract with.
” She’d been waiting for this for a long time, and now Auralia had to fight to keep the words from tumbling from her mouth.
She needed each phrase to be crisp, clear, and well-understood.
“That call center takes an eighty-five percent cut off the top of all donations they bring in, leaving you with fifteen percent.”
Price shifted on his feet. His lips moved like they wanted to say something, but no words came out.
“The fifteen percent that you take in still represents millions of dollars in donations each year. Of those millions, I was able to track down only six distinct contributions made to Marines over the entire span of time that HONOR has been a registered charity. All six contributions, when totaled, equal less than a hundred thousand dollars. However, I was able to trace a little over eight hundred thousand dollars to political donations. Donations offered equally on both sides of the political aisle. The donations to Representative Lambton, standing beside you, for example, amount to approximately twenty-five thousand dollars over the years. Is it true that you exchange political contributions for the opportunity to stand next to politicians of all political persuasions on stage?”
“Now, why in the world would someone do that?” Representative Lambton blustered out, then looked like he immediately regretted his interjection.
“Would you agree, Representative Lambton, that for a donation, Sergeant Price gets to stand beside politicians like you, people who have the public’s confidence?
” Auralia didn’t want to shift away from Price, but she was going with the flow.
It would be odd not to take advantage of Lambton’s question.
“Would you agree that it lends Sergeant Price legitimacy when you shake his hand in front of a crowd and smile together for photographs?” Auralia pivoted her attention back to Price.
“Because Sergeant Price uses those photos on his website and his outreach materials. Those photos give a sense of legitimacy to the HONOR charity and make people feel comfortable making their donations.”
While Auralia was talking, Lambton slid sideways to stand in a shadow, disappearing from the public’s view.
That meant Auralia found a pressure point, and Lambton believed her questioning was accurate.
He knew. That bastard knew all along.
Price froze with his lower jaw dropped. Auralia knew that meant his brain was in shock at his sudden exposure, a cockroach caught in the middle of the kitchen floor when someone flicked the lights on.
If Auralia wanted a useful comment, she needed to keep filling space with words until Price recovered enough to close his mouth.
“This gave you a vestige of credibility,” Auralia reiterated.
“One assumed that these politicians vetted you and your charity. Those pictures served as your social proof as you went out asking for more donations; that’s why you contributed more to politicians on both sides of the aisle than to Marines in actual need.
In fact, the donations that came through the telemarketers went directly into your pocket without any meaningful or helpful distribution.
It was like a faucet of ill-gotten gains that flowed in. ”
Price was trying. His mouth kind of chomped at the air as if he were making words.
Let’s put another nail in the coffin, Auralia thought. Nah, let’s hammer it all the way home.
“On top of that,” Auralia said loudly and clearly into her mic, “your name isn’t even Sergeant Wesley Price, Marines, retired.
It’s Eugene Morrison. You’re not from aw-shucks Arkansas.
You were born and raised in urban Tampa, Florida.
And you never received any military decorations or awards because you never served in the military.
Not in any branch. Not in any context. With that background, my question to you, Mr. Morrison, is why shouldn’t you be in prison right now for defrauding the American people? ”
The field stilled.
Perfect silence.
Not a bird, not a rustle, not even a breeze to cool her face.
Price’s face turned shades of pink, then red, and finally purple.
“You,” he pointed his finger, “are an evil, lying Jezebel, hellbent on destroying the good works of these good Samaritans here today. They lift up our dear Marines and you! You! You!” he jabbed and spat.
“How dare you call these good people corrupt. How dare you disparage their golden hearts?”
Wow! That’s quite a twist, Auralia thought.
And then, as anticipated, as had happened so many times in the past when she exposed a crime, the people who had taken out their wallets and enriched a con man, turned their anger not on the crook but on her for exposing the criminal.
They hated the feeling of being tricked in front of friends and family. Hated feeling stupid and manipulated.
So they would sink their claws into the scheme and hold onto it tightly.
Auralia and Doli, as journalists, like whistleblowers and other truth-tellers, suddenly became the bull's-eye.
Feeling small against the wave, Auralia felt the growing tide of their wrath.
“That’s a wrap,” Doli called out, and both women swung toward the exit.